


whatever causes night in our souls may leave stars

by darkcosmo



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Calypso Au, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Torture, Minor Violence, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Slow Burn, Unrequited Love, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:01:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 51,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26603374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkcosmo/pseuds/darkcosmo
Summary: Banished to a phantom island by the gods, Edelgard von Hresvelg is cursed to fall in love with the heroes that wash up on her island… heroes who can never stay.So when a scrappy young lady by the name of Hilda Valentine Goneril falls out of the sky, insisting that she has a war to get back to, Edelgard knows she’s in for another heartbreak and then some.Calypso AU.
Relationships: Hilda Valentine Goneril/Edelgard von Hresvelg
Comments: 150
Kudos: 227





	1. one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’ve read Percy Jackson, you know the drill! If you haven’t, buckle in!

**1**

Hilda’s list of facts she hated about her day was ever-growing.

But being shot out of the sky in the middle of the fucking ocean _definitely_ took the cake.

Her rude awakening, her lackluster breakfast, her bad hair day, her earlier fight with Claude– _all of it_ paled in comparison to the terrifying ordeal of having her wyvern hurtle downwards completely out of control.

It _had_ to have been a sneaky Pegasus Knight, it _had to be_. What had started as a small tear to her wyvern’s leathery wings had turned into a gaping hole that rendered the body part virtually useless, and caused it to spiral out of control in scarce seconds.

Hilda’s mind reels to understand _how this could have happened_. If only she had retreated when Claude said, this wouldn’t be her fate. But she had been _greedy_ , and she had chased after the retreating enemy– and now, because of some stragglers, she was paying the ultimate price.

She offers a feeble prayer to the goddess above between clenched teeth – _ha_ , as if she’d listen– and hopes at least for the small mercy of unconsciousness before she dies. The wind roars in Hilda’s ears, loud and fast, and the speed is enough to rip tears from her eyes as she falls.

Her eardrums feel like they’re about to rupture from the bloodcurdling screech of her wyvern, a horrible sound that announces their impending demise that is seconds away. She slides her eyes shut and tries to summon in her mind’s eye the faces of everyone she’s ever loved. _Holst, Claude, Marianne, Lysithea, Balthus, Byleth, Igna–_

Darkness swallows her whole.

* * *

By some sick cosmic joke, she survives.

Her Crest activating moments before impact saves her life.

Instead of slamming into the unforgiving ocean, what is now her wyvern’s corpse cushions most of her fall, and her defensive Crest of Goneril prevents her from dying. However, she does not miss the sickening crunch of a few of her bones breaking as they crash-land on a white-sands beach.

 _Weird, I didn’t see land when falling_ , the faraway part of Hilda's brain that’s still capable of coherent thought notes. It’s like the landmass showed up out of nowhere. The other part, the one that makes up the remaining vast majority of her brain, is screaming that every single one of her nerve endings is on fire.

It’s hard to tell how long she’s out of it, but it was nowhere near enough. Her body must be in shock, pumped full of adrenaline, and that’s why the sweet release of unconsciousness cannot take its hold again like she desperately wants it to.

The smell of wyvern guts and salty sea air is almost revolting enough to make Hilda retch right then and there, right on herself, but she manages to fight down the urge. Barely.

Sand and blood form a crust over her eyes, but she still manages to crack them open ever so slightly to focus on a human-like shape between her eyelashes.

It’s woman, her back to Hilda, and she’s screaming at the sky.

“Is this a joke?!”

The sound vertebrates inside her skull, and makes her wince. Hilda wishes she could tell this loud, angry lady to go take a fucking nap and let her wallow in her misery in silence.

“Seiros, this _isn’t funny_!” her throat sounds a little raw. She must have been going at it for a while, “Must you make my banishment worse? Must you torment me so?”

Naturally, the heavens above do not answer.

The woman chokes on her own anger, and then takes a stuttering breath that reveals she’s full-on crying with rage. If Hilda’s tear ducts didn’t feel like they were caked in blood and debris, she may have been tempted to join her.

Finally tired of her threats and pleas falling on deaf ears, the woman turns on her heel to face Hilda’s broken body.

If she had been able to, she would have gasped.

It’s a goddess. It had to be.

Hilda wonders if her fevered mind is playing tricks on her, as she’s convinced no mere mortal could carry themselves the way this young woman does. She _really_ looks otherworldly wearing a classic sleeveless dress that’s cinched at the waist by a braided belt. The look is perfectly complimented by a gold circlet on her head. Said circlet makes her look flat-out _regal_ , with small ram-like horns that adorn her temples.

She looks to be in her twenties, and her hair is startingly white, an echo of Lysithea’s, but her eyes are not the same cherry-color as her friend. It’s hard to tell, because Hilda is sort of on her deathbed, but if she had to bet, she would say they fall on the lilac spectrum.

Panic shoots through her at the menacing way of her stride as she heads towards Hilda, at how _pissed off_ she looks. A dark shadow flies overheard, and she’s afraid it’s _a vulture_ , and then the girl speaks to the circling figure above.

“Hubert? Is Linhardt around? We must sedate her. The stronger the draught the better. Her concoction will need to have nectar,” her words are met with silence, but she continues as if she got a response, “Not to worry, she’s a crest-bearer, descended from a god. Her body can take it.”

The young woman’s voice is quite deep, but fitting. Her tone is clear and commanding, and from the way she rolls her syllables, she’s surely from the south, and _definitely_ nobility. 

Hilda desperately wants to say something, but the shadow swoops down, and she’s so startled by the vulture diving towards her face that her mind finally loses its hold on consciousness.

*** * ***

When she comes to, her ribcage still feels pretty awful, like a horse sat on her chest for a little too long, but not nearly as bad as it was initially. Hilda can taste the remnants of nectar on her tongue, the god’s chosen beverage, known for its healing properties on mortals blessed with crests. Someone must have been spoon-feeding it to her while she was out of it.

She’s in what she can only describe as a large, vaulted-ceiling _cave_ that has windows carved on the otherwise solid rock, and the bed she’s in takes up most of the space in the ‘room’. The glass-less window’s view to the outside consist of what she assumes to be an orchard, mainly because of the citrus-like smell that wafts in, and beyond that, the salty sea.

Hilda is no expert, but she’s spent enough time around Fodlan’s strongest magic user to easily discern that this place _feels_ powerful, that magic flows and rules the laws and confines of the strange land the Fates delivered her to.

The thought of craning her neck to properly absorb her surroundings crosses her mind, as she gets the eerie feeling that she’s being watched, but a deep red color in her peripherical catches her eye. Panic settles in Hilda’s chest when she realizes there’s no door, but the space is divided by a tapestry that bears the twin-headed gold eagle of the Adrestian Empire. She feels her entire body stiffen.

Surely this could not be one of Emperor Ferdinand’s strongholds? Adrestia’s influence and reach had dwindled over the years, ever since that failed rebellion years ago, and Hilda had been _nowhere near_ the west _or_ south when she fell. 

“Don’t move,” a cold voice says.

But Hilda had never been one to listen. She struggles into a sitting position, and hisses in pain as her chest explodes in agony. Her arms can’t possibly support her weight, so she drops back down, and it feels like landing on a bed of spikes. She’s on the verge of crying.

“You idiot,” the same voice says. “Your ribs are broken.”

The same goddess from before steps into her line of view, with her violet eyes narrowed, her jaw set tight. Despite the absence of a green color-palette or sharp canines, Hilda still thinks she must be in some variant of Elysium, so she asks, “S-Sothis?”

Offense flashes across her beautiful features, and the young woman pulls her lips into a snarl, “Do not compare me to that beast.”

“Gee, lady. Then I’m all out of guesses,” Hilda resigns herself to keep her head angled towards the smooth stone ceiling, but continues to track the hostile individual with her eyes. “W-Who are you? Where is this?”

The white-haired girl’s frown is borderline petulant, and she wonders if she’s aware that Hilda caught snippets of her raging tantrum earlier, of her cursing at the heavens and crying while she did it.

“So many questions,” she muses, “perhaps you should save your breath. You did almost die, after all.”

“I can’t afford to ‘ _save my breath’_ ,” Hilda says, as a pressing reminder of the people relying on her never wanders too far from the edge of her mind. She considers trying to sit up again, but decides against it. “I need to go help my friends. I’ve wasted enough time here already!”

The other girl’s laugh is harsh, “ _Time_. Oh, believe me. If we have something in spades here, it’s _time_.”

Her tone is so bitter, so filled with contempt, that whatever enchantment she’d felt upon that first glimpse at this strange woman quickly sours, and Hilda can feel her own temper flare.

Claude was _out there_ , in the middle of a continental war, as well as an internal one, since the pompous assholes of the roundabout seldom got their head out of their ass long enough to work together for the common good of the Leicester Alliance. She needed to get out of here, ASAP.

“ _Look_ , _lady_ ,” the best Hilda can manage is a glare, so she does just that, “like, thanks for picking me up from the wreckage, or whatever. I’ll make sure you get a medal for it. But I think that’s quite enough of your huge bitch act,” she knows it’s a demented thing to say to the person overseeing your healing, but pain and anxiety fuel her words, “It’s… it’s time to answer my questions,” she tries not to wheeze at the effort that whole tirade just took on her body. “Please,” she tacks on, an afterthought.

For a second, she thinks the other girl is going to slap her, if the cold fury in her eyes is any indication. She really, really thinks it, even braces herself for it. But the sting doesn’t come.

“My name is Edelgard,” she snaps, “Welcome to Ogygia.”

*** * ***

_Ogygia_ … oh, it sounded familiar. Hilda’s pretty sure it’s the name of an island, and that’s about as much information as her jumbled brain can come up with. She vaguely remembers that it may be related to one of the gods, but she can’t put the puzzle together for the life of her.

The woman beside her stares like what she just said is supposed to mean something, _anything_ , to Hilda. And, well. It _doesn’t_. She was always kind of slow when it came to politics… she assumed, at least, from the golden circlet on her head, that her mystery host had some sort of pedigree in her.

Or she just thought too highly of herself. She could believe that, too.

“Uh, I’m Hilda. Hilda Goneril.”

Recognition does cross _Edelgard’s_ –wow, she kind of liked the name– eyes, but her mouth remains pressed into a thin line. Hilda infers she must still be upset about not being recognized. Whoopsie.

Well, whatever. She wasn’t here to humor this strange woman’s ego. What she wanted was answers, so she tries to get them, “Where, exactly, is Ogygia?”

Edelgard pinches the bridge of her nose, “Hold that thought. Do you really not…?”

“Not what? Know who you are?” Hilda shakes her head, and offers a sheepish smile, “Sorry, babe. I kind of have a concussion.”

She watches as Edelgard squeezes her eyes shut, “Perhaps it’s for the best that you do not know.”

Hilda’s about to politely ask just what the hell is going on with her when a sharp pain flares up in her entire chest. She groans as her vision flickers, and her arms flail at her sides before her hands land on her own sternum, uselessly trying to claw at the pain there.

“I _told you_ to save your breath. _Linhardt_!” Edelgard barks at gods-knows-who. Warmth suddenly floods the cervices of her chest, familiar and light, and suddenly she can breathe again.

That was healing magic, but she didn’t see Edelgard cast.

She wants to question this. In fact, Hilda wants to question a great many things, but her eyelids feel impossibly heavy. Whatever that magic was, it had been laced with something else.

“Rest,” Edelgard orders, and from somewhere beyond her vision, she speaks to someone else. “Hubert… it seems Rhea’s revised history is still keeping the populace in ignorance.”

 _Who are you talking to? Also, do you mean Rhea, the archbishop_? Hilda thinks she voices it, but in reality, absolutely no words leave her mouth before her vision goes dark.

* * *

The next time she wakes, Hilda feels significantly better.

She’s still in the same sunny room, her chest is still bandaged and the skin below it remains purple with green at the edges, but it’s manageable. Hilda is lowkey worried about the passage of time, as it’s kind of hard to tell in this strange corner of the world, and she’s lost track already.

Her content mood lasts for about three seconds before a big shadow careens in from the wide-open window and lands unceremoniously at the foot of the bed.

It’s the massive bird that had been hovering over her at the beach shortly after her emergency landing. What she’d thought to be a vulture was, in reality, a pure black eagle, not unlike the one on Edelgard’s tapestry that served as a divider between rooms.

Something was so, so _unnatural_ about it, but fascinating, too. Its black plumage glimmers in shades of blue, black, and purple, and instead of beady, simple animal eyes, they’re an unsettling lime green.

Hilda _shrieks_.

Almost immediately, Edelgard stumbles in, looking flustered, and from the state of her tousled hair, Hilda assumes maybe she’d been having a nap out there. It’s the first time she sees her not looking perfectly put together, as her dress hangs lower than usual on her small frame and there’s dry drool on her chin. It’s kind of cute.

“Can you stop screaming bloody murder?” Edelgard blinks in the direction of the ridiculous bird that’s preening itself all casual-like, “It’s just Hubert.”

“ _It’s just Hubert_ ,” Hilda mimics back, inching backwards until her head hits the solid rock behind her. She rubs angrily at the back of her head, “Oh, _excuse me_. I’m just not used to waking to massive murder-birds invading my space whenever they please.”

“Technically, this is his home,” Edelgard reminds her. She ruffles the bird’s onyx coat, and smiles in a way that’s never been aimed at Hilda, “In fact, you should be thanking him. It looks like some of your belongings were successfully retrieved.”

She’d been so preoccupied with the creepy eyes, she had failed to see that between its talons, the clever animal had brought in a satchel that did seem to contain some of her stuff. How he had managed this with his clear lack of opposable thumbs, she had no idea.

Hilda feels her cheeks heat up, “Forget it. I’m not thanking a bird?”

“Well, then. Good luck getting these back,” Edelgard proceeds to scratch it under its beak, and Hilda did not think an overgrown crow could look so pleased. Those sharp talons close defensively over its prize, like it understood their language, and Hilda glowers.

But she also knows to pick her battles. “ _Thank you_ , Hubert.”

The bird makes a sound that’s kind of like a whistle, and Hilda does not like it one bit how _intelligent_ this creature seems to be. With its… _permission_ … Edelgard safely tosses the satchel in her direction, and Hilda eagerly starts to rummage through its contents. It’s mostly spare clothes and a few supplies, which is nice.

Hoping her axe to be in there was short of pointless, so she doesn’t even get her hopes up, but a weapon of some kind would’ve been nice. Every instinct in her is screaming that something is very wrong with this whole situation, and the sooner she left this behind her, the better.

It had been 5 years since Claude waged his war, 5 years since Hilda remained steadfast at his side. When the heart of their army returned from a mysterious disappearance mere months ago, the deadlock of the war had been broken, and she had never been away from him and the other former Golden Deer for so long. She needed to find them.

“We planned to burn the body today. The smell is starting to become unbearable.” Edelgard says. Oh, she must mean her wyvern. “But we wanted to know if you wanted a final goodbye, or any special burial before its final journey into the Underworld.”

Hilda pauses, “Who is _we_? Who else lives on this island?”

By now, she assumed this was a deserted, castaway-type of situation, since the only trace of a person seemed to be her unenthusiastic hostess. Thinking about it too much made the baby hairs on her arms rise, at how spooky it all was, at how her only other human contact spoke mostly in half-truths and veiled anger.

As suspected, Edelgard grimaces and says, “Just me.”

Hilda decides that she can live without answers to her thousands of questions. She can write this off as a bad, unexpected experience that cost her a wyvern and some broken bones, and nothing more. Whatever was going on with Edelgard, she wanted no part of.

Her favorite shirt with the boob-window is in the rescued bag and she puts it on over her bandages, and black slacks shortly follow. Hilda has no time to dwell on the fact that Edelgard had done away with her ruined Wyvern Lord outfit and left her in only her undergarments to facilitate the tedious healing process. Given this, it’s kind of funny to see the other woman avert her gaze when she shimmies the pants on.

She thinks she’s well enough to stand, and Hilda is _ecstatic_ when she finds a familiar pair of items waiting on the floor for her, “Thanks for the help,” she says, as she pulls on her favorite boots, “but I really need to get back to my friends. You know how it is, with the war and all.”

Edelgard stares, her brow etched with distrust, “Yes, the war… May I ask who you’ve sworn your axe to?”

“Claude von Riegan,” Hilda blurts out immediately, stupidly, before the words can pass through all the proper filters. She stiffens as Edelgard’s eyes go wide, but… she doesn’t really seem surprised.

 _Wow_ , talk about idiocy. She didn’t even know this person! They could be one of Rhea’s goons, for all she knew! The absence of green hair or reptilian features meant nothing. Also, how in the blazes did she know Hilda was an axe-wielder?

She’s put somewhat at ease when Edelgard nods in approval, “You fight for humanity, then. A good choice.”

“Um. Yeah, well. Good talk.” Hilda gives her a funny look, and the urge to abandon this strange, magic-infused place is all-too overwhelming. “I think I’m going to leave now.”

She brushes past her strange host, but before she can make it to the doorway, she’s surprised when Edelgard’s hand shoots out to grab her wrist and stop her. “You cannot leave this island.”

Hilda’s eyes narrow, “Is that a threat?”

Edelgard swallows, looking a little sullen. “No. What I mean is, you quite literally cannot leave.”

With more force than strictly necessary, Hilda snatches her hand back, ignoring the throb her not-entirely-healed shoulder gives in protest, “I’ll swim if I have to.”

“ _You don’t understand_. I’m sure you’ve felt the magic coursing through this island,” her eyes are downcast, “there’s–” a wince, and Edelgard’s voice drops, “–a _curse_.”

Her horrid bird – _Hubert–_ squawks and flaps those dark, shimmery wings as if to add gravity to his master’s cryptic little words.

From the somber way she said _curse_ , Hilda feels like she got smacked between the eyes. “ _Huh_? Yeah, right. Stop messing with me. This isn’t funny, Edelgard!”

“You think this is amusing to me, do you?” violet eyes flash dangerously, “Do you think I stay here of my own free will? You imagine I want you here, mocking me?” she’s shaking, “Your mere presence is an insult.”

The pink-haired girl balks at how deeply personal that last part felt, how _unwarranted_ her attitude was, and Hilda’s voice comes out sharper than she means to, “ _Fine_ , so let’s pretend for a hot second that there’s, indeed, _a curse_. Why am _I_ being punished!?”

“This isn’t punishment for _you_ ,” Edelgard’s tone is venomous, “It’s entirely _for me_.”

“Uh, _sorry_ , but being kept from my friends affects _me_ negatively! Claude’s counting on me! He doesn’t know where I am, what happened, _if I’m_ _alive_. I don’t–”

Edelgard waves a dismissive hand, “Time passes by differently in Ogygia. Weeks, or even years in here can translate into few minutes in the mortal world. Chances are, he doesn’t even know you’re gone.”

“I’m not _chancing it_ ,” Hilda makes a point to bump against Edelgard’s shoulder as she finally shoves past her and through the tapestry, into a wide space that only has a kitchen and a sitting area, all the same rustic style as the bedroom, with the fanciest thing there being the table. There’s a cot in the middle, and she realizes Edelgard had given up her bed for her.

There’s no door at all leading to the outside, so nothing stops her from stepping out into the sun.

*** * ***

Hilda doesn’t know _where_ she’s going, exactly, but ‘ _away from Edelgard’_ seems to be the priority. It’s a little hard to do with the other girl following behind her, albeit a safe distance away, but at least she’s not right next to her being hostile for no gods-damn reason.

The island can’t be bigger than all of Garreg Mach Monastery. Hell, she can see where one shore begins and where the other ends. There’s a thicket of greenery near the back where Edelgard’s… _house_ is, and she wonders what’s back there. Even so, the land doesn’t feel big enough to get sufficient distance between herself and her reluctant hostess.

For a second, she wonders if the attitude was due to this girl being a disgruntled ex-girlfriend of her brother Holst, as she seemed to recognize her when she introduced herself. She quickly dismisses it as absurd, since the word _curse_ was thrown around, and in a world with vengeful gods and monsters, Hilda dreads that the truth is a teensy bit more complicated than that.

Not that Hilda wanted or cared to know. She really, _really_ didn’t. The sooner she left this strange experience behind her, the better!

Maybe she was a nymph. A disgruntled, mean nymph. Hilda had encountered her share of those back in Goneril and around the village at the Officer’s Academy. But… she didn’t _seem_ like one, if that made sense? The vibe was just… different. She was still inclined to think maybe Edelgard was some sort of minor goddess, but if she was wrong, she was positive the arrogant girl would never let her live it down, so she doesn’t dare ask.

Hilda trudges through the white dunes of sand, and does her best to blow her bangs out of her face when they get in the way. The sun is setting, yellow and orange bleeding into a ruddy color, but it’s still relatively warm. If she wasn’t in a hurry, she may have paused to admire the view.

“This is the phantom island Ogygia,” Edelgard’s voice, distracting and rich, calls after her. _Oh, now_ she wanted to explain. Hilda doesn’t stop walking, but her interest is piqued. “I… am cursed to stay. I’m imprisoned here, banished by the gods.”

Hilda’s hum turns into a gag as the rotting smell of her wyvern reaches her nose, “That’s all very interesting, but doesn’t explain why _I_ am here and why _I_ can’t leave. What does this so-called curse of yours entail, anyway?”

 _Ew, ew,_ ew. Hilda’s heart sinks at the unrecognizable mess of flesh and bone that used to be her trusted ride. Her wyvern’s innards are on full display, and the heat is certainly not helping the decomposition process. There doesn’t seem to be as much to salvage as she had hoped.

Most of her stuff is pinned under the massive body, and she’s loathe to ask Edelgard for help, so she deems it lost. A shiny flash of metal catches her eye, and a small smile spreads over her lips.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Edelgard bristle before she speaks, “I-I am cursed to heal wounded heroes that wash up on Ogygia’s shores.”

She wonders if Ogygia is like Rhea’s other abandoned pet projects, namely the underground Abyss, and Hilda almost shudders as she recalls _that_ experience. Their visit down there all those years ago had been partly responsible for igniting Claude’s resolve to take up arms against the Church, to finish what the famed Flame Emperor had started before their time.

“ _Heroes_ ,” Hilda repeats, as with herculean strength she manages to dislodge the axe that had been pinned under the wyvern’s tail. She heaves it up, is almost blinded when the sun’s glare reflects back the light. Her entire body is still aching, and she’s sure to feel the strain from her feat in the morning, but at least she’s armed now. Hilda turns to the other girl, “I like that your curse thinks I’m a hero. Kinda neat!”

“Hmph. Seiros has been wrong before,” Edelgard says under her breath, but loud enough for Hilda to take offense. Hubert cackles at her side, those unnerving eyes twinkling like he understood the jab. Stupid bird.

She jabs a finger in her direction, “Well, consider me plenty healed! Can I leave now? I seriously don’t have time for this. What do I have to do to break this curse?”

It wasn’t an unreasonable thing to ask. Hilda had grown up around quests and prophecies, petty gods and lofty humans, but Edelgard blinks at her like she grew two heads.

“You can’t _break_ the curse. Only the Seiros can lift it, and I don’t believe she will.”

Then something interesting happens. Edelgard’s hands ball into fists at her sides, and an angry, red flush crawls its way up her neck that leaves her entire face crimson. Hilda tilts her head playfully to the side.

“Oh, let me guess…” Hilda drawls, “There’s _another_ gimmick to your curse that you don’t wanna share. What, is it too embarrassing?”

She takes her fuming silence as confirmation. Whatever it is, Edelgard is absolutely _livid_ about it. It’s inconvenient as fuck, too, because Hilda really needs to know so she can _get out of here_ , but it’s obvious she’s vehemently against even speaking it.

“Fine! Don’t tell me. I’ll figure it out. I don’t need you,” Hilda wrinkles her nose as the putrid smell of her former mount assaults her nostrils yet again, “I bet I can find an Oracle to help me, or the gods will send a dream to guide me.”

She manages to retrieve her spear as well, and the head’s been snapped off, but it could still serve as a walking stick. The sandy terrain wasn’t all that easy to navigate, and since she planned to explore the greenery near the back, she didn’t really know what to expect, so it was handy to bring along. Hilda starts making her way over in that general direction.

“Where are you going?” even when showing concern, Edelgard still manages to sound like _she’s_ the one being inconvenienced, “It’s going to be dark soon. Don’t go wandering around, or you’re going to get yourself hurt.”

Something inside the usually laid-back girl snaps.

Hilda whirls around to glare daggers at her, “You may have healed me, but you’ve been nothing but difficult! You’re taking your bitterness out on me, and I’m _done_. Now, I don’t know how you might have slighted the goddess to deserve _this_ ,” Edelgard winces, but the Goneril girl barrels on, “but it’s _not my fault_. We’re stuck under this curse with each other, but it doesn’t mean we have to bear it together.”

For the first time, Edelgard’s haughty front is deflated, and her eyes go wide and rueful. For a split second, Hilda see can see a peek of her humanity slip through the cracks.

It doesn’t last.

In a second, she watches as those eyes quickly harden again, and the cold mask is smoothed back into place. It’s like she was allergic to the softer side of human emotion– which revived her initial question of whether this young woman was mortal to begin with. Hilda thought so, but it was hard sometimes to tell with temperamental immortals.

“Goodbye, Edelgard. And good riddance.” Hilda says firmly, as she turns on her heel and marches away as quickly as she can with all the gear she’s suddenly carrying. Her body is not at a hundred percent yet, so it’s not ideal, but she’s soldiered on through worse.

This time, Edelgard doesn’t follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a light mesh of Fodlan + Greek mythology. Don’t think about it too hard (I know I’m not) and while this takes elements from PJO, it’s sadly not set in that world! Just borrowing some stuff.  
> I’m still in rarepair hell ¿¿ and i had to feed myself, so. here. I have most of it done, so updates should be frequent!


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hilda is not doing so hot on her own, and the gods send a dream to guide this poor soul.

**2**

After a bit of a trek, Hilda finds some shelter. It’s tucked in the joke-of-a woods, and she decides it’s acceptable enough to spend the night in. She calls it “shelter” but, honestly, it’s kind of a dump. It is open to the sky and made of dark, weathered wood, held together by some ratty-looking cloth. The canopy of leaves above serves as a roof of sorts.

The mossy floorboards are soft enough, and she curls up with the satchel under her head to serve as a pillow. Hilda leaves her trusty axe a hair’s breadth away in case she has need for it. The trees overhead cover most of the night sky, but she can still see the faint glow of the stars above, and she wonders if Claude is gazing up at them, too.

A dirty cloth hanging near those treetops catches her eye. It’s hard to tell in the dark, and she’s kind of a massive idiot when it comes to nations other than Fodlan, but from the torn-up symbol on the cloth, she deduces it’s _got to_ be from Brigid. As she curls up tighter around herself, she realizes the material is ideal for the sail of a ship. Maybe a castaway set this up, built this from the remnants of a shipwreck.

 _Gods_ , the Hilda from five years ago would have been _livid_ with this sleeping arrangement. She didn’t even have anything to cover her body with, but the tropical air was humid enough that thankfully it wasn’t indispensable. She didn’t even mind the sweaty situation as much as her younger self would have. War changes a person, she supposes.

The charred smell of burning-wyvern reaches her all the way over here, so Edelgard must have been having a bonfire down at the beach. Not for the first time, she laments the fate of her trusty ride, and offers a small prayer in hopes that its afterlife will be somewhat kinder than what it got here, with her. _Fuck_.

Sleep evades her for what feels like hours, as her brain keeps replaying the last few days over and over in her head. This wouldn’t be happening to a plain, mortal commoner, Hilda’s spiteful subconscious remarks. Bullshit like this only happened to people with Crests… sometimes, being related to the gods really did not feel like a blessing, despite what everyone claimed. 

For whatever reason, the entire pantheon of Fodlan’s gods had decided to have children with regular mortals many moons ago. The offspring of those unions resulted in the existence of Crests, blessings of power that they now carried in their blood. So Hilda’s great-great-great-great-great-great grandmother caught the attention of the god Goneril, and demigod children they had together were the first to inherit the Goneril crest.

The gods pretty soon realized having a bunch of half-god, half-human children could not possibly end well for them, so they did not have any more kids with mortals after the War of Heroes. However, loads of those demigods went on to continue their own little families. So like all living crest-bearers, Hilda was a watered-down demigod, a legacy of sorts, with an actual god as a very, _very_ distant grandfather. The handful of times she had met the immortal god Goneril, he’d referred to Hilda as his child. Which was super weird, because the god donned her _actual father_ with the same treatment, so it was awkward to say the least.

But gods were petty beings, too… one wrong move, and you could fall out of their grace, be left without an heir with a Crest, which could easily translate into financial and social ruin. Despite being passed down by blood, a crested child was _not_ guaranteed.

Sometimes, they were assholes just for fun. Years ago, the minor god Gautier withheld his crest from his chosen bloodline, only to reward the second-born son with it after much groveling and repentance from them. In turn, the firstborn had tried to kill his brother. Repeatedly.

Like Gautier, Goneril was a minor god, a former mortal rewarded with immortality for his courage and prowess in battle, and so far, her family had never failed to have crested children. Minor gods were more generous when blessing mortals with crests– major gods, such as Seiros, Cethleann, Cichol, Indech, etc, etc, were far rarer, but they were much more powerful and more involved in the affairs of humanity.

That worldview had also led to… problems, mainly regarding places without such blessings or importance on lineage, as was the case with the neighboring Almyra. That is why Claude dreamed of opening Fodlan to the outside world, intent on breaking the cultural barriers and form a true diplomatic and cordial relationship. The above was impossible with the Church’s meddling, as it was a steadfast ally of the gods that upheld their system, so after much consideration, it was decided this way of life was not sustainable.

Something _interesting_ had happened that gave Claude the courage to proceed. There seemed to be a _rift_ between the gods, the major and minor ones, with the progenitor goddess. All of their augurs and oracles indicated that Seiros fell from the grace of her mother Sothis; that the primordial mother did not approve of her bratty daughter’s leadership. Byleth Eisner’s fusion with the deity only cemented this further.

Very recently, it had become obvious that most of the Ten Elite gods seemed to be against the major gods, too, and instead of a relationship of friendship and respect, it seemed more like a hostage kind of situation.

Anyway…

Hilda sighs and turns over to lay on her side. Obsessing over the reality of the world tires her out, and eventually she falls into a restless slumber.

*** * ***

It’s three days before the gods deign themselves to send a sign.

They’re hard days, with the first one being the roughest. She eats through her measly supply of nuts and dried meat fairly quickly; the one Hubert had salvaged. Hilda considers hunting, but it would be a nightmare to do with only an axe, and she wasn’t nearly as creative as Leonie or Holst to make do with what she had.

So, she sharpens the end of her walking stick and opts to scavenge and spear through small fish on the shallow part of the beach. The southern part of Goneril, right near Fodlan’s Throat, met the sea, so she was somewhat familiar, but she rarely went there. So her seaside expertise was lacking at best.

Hilda from five years ago would have _wheezed_ with laughter at her ridiculous situation, what a picture she must make! Pants rolled up to her knees, sharpened stick in hand, wading around for unsuspecting fish swimming around her ankles.

Those measly fish would have been better off as bait, but she did not have the equipment or, honestly, _knowledge_ , to do better. The Professor had tried to share their passion for fishing several times, but Hilda had avoided those outings like the plague. She used to hide out with Lysithea and Lorenz in the mage’s room by the Greenhouse whenever their teacher organized a fishing tourney at the pond. _Holy Seiros_ did she regret it _now_.

Her source of protein became _limpets_ , oyster-like creatures she had to pry off rocks and cook. They were salty, chewy, and she tried to pretend they did not look like snot. Hilda’s gag reflex often reminded her of the truth, however. She drew the line at disgusting sea cucumbers. Although edible, she wasn’t _that_ desperate, not yet.

Hilda greatly missed seasonings, and most of all, _butter_. Half the stuff she found wouldn’t taste half as revolting if she had anything decent to cook it with. Her pride and pettiness prevented her from crawling back to Edelgard for some guidance, and she wondered how long she could last living like this.

The second order of business –which honestly should have been the first, but her priorities felt skewed– was finding fresh water. Hilda figures the person that built her makeshift shelter knew what they were doing when selecting a location, because she quickly finds a spring. It’s a shimmering blue pool of nice, cold water, and she suspects some magic must be involved for it to look so nice and crystalline.

It’s her first real bath in what feels like _eons_ , and she even allows herself to cry a little, it’s almost cathartic. Her wounds are still tender, the water stings a little, but the thought of asking Edelgard for _anything_ makes her stomach churn, so she doesn’t. Hilda is fairly confident the worst of her cracked ribs has healed properly, so there should be no risk of the bone puncturing her lungs, and she really hopes the rest would heal on its own.

Not for the first time, she wonders who Linhardt is, if he’s some minor deity that answers Edelgard’s requests on command. That would be handy, having a healer at your beck and call whenever you needed them. _Gods_ , she missed Marianne’s impeccable healing, and even Lysithea’s half-hearted Heals would be great right about now. 

With the discovery of that freshwater pool, the second day on her own becomes more bearable, sleep comes a little easier, but there’s still no sign of the gods above. A new development, though: she wakes to find a fruit bowl, and it reeks of _peace offering_.

Okay, she was touched. A bit creeped out that it was delivered when she was sleeping, as Edelgard had correctly assumed where she was staying, but it’s a nice gesture all the same. Red juice runs down her chin as she bites into a pomegranate, and _maybe_ all can be forgiven, but she doesn’t want to see Edelgard just yet.

That second day, she inspects the collection of wood planks and hemp rope that serve as her temporary ‘home.’ Like she initially suspected, it seems to be made from random ship parts, really, from whatever could be salvaged from a wreck. The wood isn’t rotten, despite the obvious abandonment, which is interesting. Maybe the magic in this island kept it from completely decaying.

She’s devouring her second Morfis plum when something catches her eye. Hilda carefully examines what looks like deliberate scratches on what might have been the piece of a mast.

P E T R A

B E R N A D E T T A

Names, several of them. They’re carved into the dark wood, maybe with a knife or an arrowhead, and there’s other names, over a dozen… _one_ that makes her start blinking hard with disbelief.

B Y L E T H

Hilda rubs her eyes with the back of her hand, and the plum suddenly tastes nearly acidic on her tongue. She runs her fingers along the engraved wood, once, twice, until she accepts that it’s real and not a product of her feverish mind.

Her first impulse dictates that she run to Edelgard’s stone house and demand answers. _No, don’t be hasty_. Hilda manages to quell it down, tries to think it through with a clear head like Claude would.

Who says the name meant Byleth _Eisner_? She was probably projecting, willing it to be them. Hilda, personally, didn’t _know_ any others, but it could be a common name in Fodlan, for all she knew!

Hours later, she burns up an offering to the gods. It mostly consists on the remainder of Edelgard’s fruits that she could not bring herself to eat. Lastly, she adds a few gold coins she digs out of the bottom of her satchel. She wouldn’t be needing currency here, not unless Edelgard suddenly decided to start charging her for things. Which, fuck her if she did.

It was widely accepted that the gods liked the smoke, the smell of burning things. As far as offerings went, hers was kind of lackluster, but Goneril wasn’t known for being picky, and maybe even another one of the bunch that didn’t hate her would answer her prayer. At this point, she didn’t care.

_Please, tell me what I need to do to go home. Help me leave Ogygia._

That should be enough. It was concise and to the point, leaving no room for interpretation. Sometimes gods would deliberately misinterpret mortal’s prayers for their own amusement, and she hoped it wouldn’t be the case with hers.

The sickly-sweet smell of burning fruit lulls her to sleep, and unlike her prayer, the vision she’s sent is NOT brief and to the point. In fact, she’s shown something completely unrelated to her gentle request for guidance.

She’s shown _Claude_ , atop his snowy wyvern, drumming his gloved fingers along his saddle. His hair is messily tucked inside the mustard-and-gray scarf she made him, the one he used when he didn’t feel like dealing with his hair. Just like she’d left him.

Hilda recognizes the hellish, fiery landscape behind him: he’s in Ailell, colloquially known as the Valley of Torment. No mortal had been to the Underworld and survived to tell the tale, but she figured it was a taste of what the Fields of Punishment were like. Judith Daphnel and her guys had run into some trouble with the knights of House Rowe, but luckily the Golden Deer had been there to provide much needed support.

Her heart sinks to her stomach. This was _days_ ago, before she was shot down.

“Lysithea, have you seen Hilda?” Claude calls down.

The tiny mage blasts a burly Paladin to dust with a well-placed Dark Spikes as she yells back, “I’m kind of in the middle of something!”

“Hm. Gwendal’s dead… where could she have run off to?” Claude wonders aloud. Hilda wants to scream, _to talk_ , to tell him she’s _right there_. But this is a dream, or a vision, and regardless of its nature, she’s not _really_ here, despite it feeling like she’s sitting _right there_ on the wyvern, next to him.

“Yo! I saw her fly beyond the lava, towards the sea,” Leonie urges her mount into a trot, circling the space below Claude. “She… she should have come back, by now?”

Claude’s eyebrows rise, and she recognizes the unhappy curve of his lips as worry creeps into his heart. He glances down at the green-haired figure bellow him, “Teach, what do you think? Time for a search party?”

Byleth nods, “Take Ignatz with you.”

 _I’m here, I’m here, I’m here_ , Hilda chants inside her head, to no avail. She tries to comfort herself with what Edelgard said, that time passed by differently in Ogygia, but the ache is all too real.

Several days for her seemed to have translated into minutes outside the magical bubble of the island– assuming what she was being shown was _live_ , and not the far past. For all she knew, a hundred years could have passed, and the mere thought sends the worst kind of chill down her spine.

She’s violently ripped from the scene, as if snatched away by a whirlwind of colors and sounds. Her friend’s faces and the landscape blend together, and she’s transported elsewhere. The god that was messing with her dreams wanted to show her something else.

From above, she’s looking down on a scene that’s unfolding between two shapes on a white-sands beach.

It was Ogygia, and she’s shown a dock with a raft bobbing in the water right by its side. A dark-skinned girl with an elaborate braid is hugging Edelgard, who looks exactly the same, except for one thing: she’s openly crying.

Hilda is… startled, honestly, that the seemingly cold girl was capable of such emotion. Tears flow freely down her pale cheeks, and she’s trembling. She’d seen her yell at the sky when she was shot down, but that had been pure rage. _This_ was grief. She feels a little guilty that the gods had decided to show her such an intimate, distressing moment. Hilda almost averts her eyes, feeling that she’s intruding by watching such an embrace.

The taller girl is trying to soothe Edelgard, rubbing circles on the small of her back. Despite being several feet above them, the strangers’ accented voice sounds crystal clear to Hilda’s ears, “My words are not coming out as properly as I am wanting.”

“Petra…”

“I must be returning to Brigid.”

Edelgard seems inconsolable, and Hilda’s so, _so_ confused. She suspects the gods are nudging her towards a piece of the puzzle, the one she had been determined to _not_ solve, but it seemed that she had no other choice, so she might as well start piecing it together.

So, yes, there’s a raft there, that’s probably what the gods intended to show her, but _why_ must she be subjected to watch the rest?

She assumes this _Petra_ person is one of the heroes Edelgard had nursed back to health, as part of her curse. This girl’s name was the one she found carved on the mast, along with Byleth’s, but this one could not be a coincidence. Petra from Brigid had been here, and she had managed to escape.

But _why_ and _how_ had the raft showed up? Did she have to make Edelgard cry, was that the big secret?

“I have great skill at sailing,” the mystery girl says earnestly, “I will come back.”

“If you leave… you will never be able to return,” by the tired, miserable way Edelgard says it, Hilda thinks it’s not the first time she’s had to utter those words, “Ogygia will never show itself to you again.”

Petra’s face crumbles, and her voice is conflicted when she says, “I am understanding. However, I am royalty of Brigid. There are duties that I must be fulfilling.”

Dang, okay, a _princess_? In this prison disguised as paradise? Hilda feels almost dizzy with just… sheer _confusion_. The puzzle kept getting more and more disgustingly complicated, _the gods really were maniacs_! She didn’t sign up for this, _any_ of this. 

Edelgard hugs herself, and it’s so heartbreaking, Hilda feels for her, she really, really does. She says something else, but it’s like her words travel underwater. Their faces, the scenery around them, is starting to blur together, the world starts to spin. She was getting booted from the memory.

The last thing to shift out of her view is the wooden platform they were standing on. She’s actually walked past that dock before during her initial exploration, but there had been no raft there, not even close.

Well. Hilda knew what to do.

The morning of the third day, she leaves for Edelgard’s place fueled by a determination she thought she didn’t have in her.

*** * ***

Hilda is almost tripping over her own feet when she makes it inside Edelgard’s cool, vacant home. She’d heard singing coming from the orchard area, so sneaking inside is easy enough, as there wasn’t even a door to stop her.

The thought that Edelgard may be harvesting fresh fruit to deliver to her almost makes her pause and reconsider, but she shakes the thought away. Hilda was feeling more than a little wild after the revelation that it was possible to leave this island via _a raft_ , and she was kinda trigger-happy to be honest. She wanted _answers_.

But she’s also kind of cowardly, not a big fan of confrontation, so she stalls. Maybe she could find a handy clue between the other girl’s belongings, without need to face her just yet.

The quaint home is exactly as she remembered from her involuntary stay a few days ago, and as she wanders inside, she starts to really appreciate just how simple it really is. There’s a main room with an open floor plan that has a rustic little kitchen, where she is, and then the tapestry that leads to the bedroom with only the one bed. Lastly, at the back, there’s another Adrestian tapestry that leads to what she can only assume to be a washroom?

Hilda inspects her surroundings, and she’s surprised to find that a loom takes up a significant amount of the space, and beside it, a workbench. It leads her to think some of the furniture could be hand-made, not just willed into existence by the goddess.

There’s art supplies on a marble table (now _that_ must have been a gift from a god) and on it, she can spy small, black blocks surrounding a few sheets of paper. Hilda cannot abate her curiosity, and despite her better judgement, she approaches the setup, her axe held loosely between her fingers.

Oh.

It’s… it’s a charcoal drawing, and Hilda’s hands are suddenly clammy at the unmistakable inspiration behind it. She recognizes those vacant, intelligent eyes, the choppy style of the haircut, the sharp angles of that jaw. It was a face you didn’t forget, after you saw it everyday for the better part of a year.

“Hilda?”

Hilda is shaking, and spots dance across her vision, maybe from wariness, maybe from stress, but she refuses to let it overwhelm her. She needs her mind sharp.

“Alright, Edelgard.” Hilda’s voice is unnervingly quiet, her face a strained mask of calm. She turns to face the other girl as she asks, “Who the fuck are you, _really_ , and why do you have a portrait of _Byleth Eisner_?”

A basket of oranges and apples tumbles from her hands, the sweet produce rolling along the floor at her feet, but neither of them move. Hilda’s hand closes around the handle of her axe.

Edelgard has the absolute gall to look almost bashful, and the tips of her ears glow red, “I-I can explain…”

“You can? Good!” Hilda swings her axe downwards and rests her chin on the pommel, “While we’re at it, I’d like you to tell me about this _raft_ that’s supposed to show up in this dream I had,” her voice is amicable, but there’s a distinct undercurrent of danger to her words, “Start talking, babe.”

That lilac gaze lands on the sharp end of the axe, and she eyes it nervously, “Intimidation is not necessary. We can have a civilized conversation like adults.”

As if on cue, Hubert suddenly swoops in, business end of his talons aiming for Hilda’s eyes. Her instincts are anything but rusty, and lightning-fast the flat end of her weapon is up, and she has bonked the annoying creature on the head, knocking it out cold. Any civility she had left goes right down with it.

Edelgard gasps and steps towards the crumpled form of her bird, but Hilda clicks her tongue, “Stop right there. He’s fine. Let him enjoy his involuntary nap,” she beckons her closer with a finger, “Now you and I are going to have a long overdue _talk_.”

She obviously resents being ordered around, perhaps unused to it, but Edelgard can probably sense Hilda is feeling _a bit_ unhinged, and she does as bidden. She takes a seat at the smooth marble table and laces her fingers together, her lips pursed.

Hilda sits across from her, never with her back to Hubert and leaving her axe resting casually between her knees, just in case the cursed thing wakes up and decides to attack her again.

“Well?” Hilda prompts. “Byleth?”

Dejectedly, her hostess sighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Poor Hilda, Ogygia sure is testing her… next chap will finally be from El’s POV, so if this was confusing in any way, I’ll do my best to make everything clear on pt 3!
> 
> -I also hope the godly relations make sense. Like I said, it’s lightly inspired by PJO + Greek myths but it’s not set in that world, I mostly liked the interpretation used for Calypso’s island and the rest is loosely based on FE3H canon and my own agenda lol
> 
> -Alsoo I know there’s some discourse regarding Petra’s speech, so I mostly used direct quotes from the game. As a bilingual person myself, I know how hard a second language can be, so I stuck to her og portrayal just to be safe


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard reveals who she is, and what her curse entails– except for one teensy, crucial detail.

**3**

Edelgard wonders where to begin.

Her tragic, stolen childhood? Her failed ambitions? Her own hubris?

Hilda makes an impatient noise in the back of her throat, and those eyes like rose quartz narrow dangerously. She hated how… _aware_ she was of the other girl, how every time she looked at her, her entire body washed over with warmth. Edelgard knew it was entirely the curse’s doing, that her intense attraction was nothing more than a fabrication and a result of her eternal punishment, but it was still a constant struggle to resist those feelings. 

It certainly did not help that Hilda was just flat-out gorgeous, that the abhorrent Seiros and her kin seemed perfectly attuned with _exactly_ what Edelgard craved in another person. She wasn’t sure if they were compatible personality-wise (so far, she was leaning towards _absolutely not_ ) but by looks alone, Edelgard was already smitten.

She had recently decided she would no longer tell the heroes under her care that she was doomed to fall in love with them. When she had been honest, it made things unbearably awkward, and caused them to pity her. Edelgard’s despairing brain had convinced her that, maybe, if they were not made aware of this, perhaps she could stand a chance.

Driving Hilda away, antagonizing her and rebuffing her attempts at communication was the current strategy she had decided on in order to protect her heart. Edelgard didn’t know how effective it would be, or if the torturous process of falling for the other young woman would be all the much worse. Perhaps she was just dragging out the inevitable, but it gave her some semblance of control over the foreboding feeling of yet _another_ heartbreak that would leave her feeling empty and discarded when her heroes inevitably left her side. 

“Hello? Don’t space out!” Hilda’s voice drags her back down from her small crisis, “How do you know Byleth? Don’t make me ask you again.”

Thinking about them… about her latest love, it _hurts_.

“Byleth. Byleth…” Edelgard begins, but her voice wavers, and she tries again, “They were the last hero to wash up in Ogygia, a-and they were hurt… as the curse mandates, I healed them back to health. I helped them…”

 _I loved them_.

“For how long?” Hilda’s eyes glitter with something she can’t quite describe, “I mean, how long were they here for? Five years?”

Edelgard hesitates, “I don’t know. It is certainly a possibility. Time passes differently–”

“Yeah, yeah, a week in here is ten minutes out there,” Hilda rolls her eyes, and almost to herself, adds: “So Ogygia is where they disappeared to when we needed them most…”

The former Imperial princess tries to keep the hurt out of her voice and fails when she asks, “Did Byleth never mention…?”

“No,” Hilda says, an annoyed edge to her voice, “They claimed to have been sleeping for five years, and Claude rolled with it. _Ugh_!”

Edelgard had been _very_ conflicted, to say the least, when the individual bearing the likeness of the gods washed up on her island. _Fused with Sothis_ , they said, and it had made the Adrestian’s stomach churn to learn that apparently _godhood_ was the next tier when being ‘blessed’ with a crest wasn’t enough.

Much like Hilda, Byleth had had people relying on them. Although emotionally closed-off, they talked about their teaching position at Garreg Mach often. Their students, the Golden Deer, were at the forefront of a struggle, a war, one that Edelgard was all too familiar with. And before her, sat one of those students.

Hilda Valentine Goneril. Yes, the mercenary had talked in length about the future Duchess. Although they spoke in a fond tone when recalling their student, most of the things they said were negative in Edelgard’s mind: apparently, she was spoiled and lazy, bad under pressure, and manipulative. 

She wondered if she had changed at all in that five year gap.

The pink-haired girl is uncharacteristically quiet, digesting her words. Edelgard’s all too aware that she’s beginning to stare when Hilda suddenly leans forward, probably eager to continue this line of questioning. “Bernadetta. Petra.” Hilda says, as Edelgard’s heart fills with lead. “Were they heroes, too?”

“…Yes.”

Hilda nods thoughtfully, like she already knew the answer but was just looking for confirmation. Edelgard has to assume that she saw the names carved in wood outside where she made camp, the shelter Petra had originally built. It had become a… tradition, of sorts, for them to leave their names there. A painful reminder, more like.

It had been a few days since their tense encounter on the beach, and Hilda was looking remarkably healthy. A little bruising could be seen peeking out around her collarbone, but it seemed to be healing along well even without Edelgard’s or Linhardt’s help. She wished the other girl would let her get a look at the progress along those broken ribs of hers though.

Hilda snaps her fingers under her nose, and Edelgard is mortified to realize that she’d been caught with her eyes roaming the general area of Hilda’s chest. She feels her cheeks flush, and before she can explain that it was in pursuit of purely medical reasons, the other girl beats her to it.

“Well, well, let’s talk about _you_ ,” her smile is all teeth, “What did you even _do_ that was so terrible that now you are cursed to stay on Ogygia?”

Edelgard flinches, is evasive. “I wronged the goddess.”

“That much is obvious,” Hilda snorts, as she drums her nails against the level surface of the table. “I don’t know how long you’ve been on this island, but you clearly are familiar with the war. I suppose the Professor told you. We’ve wronged the gods, too, but the magnitude of _your_ punishment is really throwing me on a loop here.”

She feels her heart begin to race, wonders if the conversation is going where she thinks it is, and she whispers, “If you and your friends fail, you all will be punished in a similar fashion. Believe me.”

Hilda nods solemnly, a humorless smile on her face. Her fingers trace the edge of her charcoal drawing of Byleth, and Edelgard tries not to cringe. Her latest heartbreak was not one she had handled all that well. Byleth had thought of her as just another student, and even still, she’d pined for them, _hard_.

Obviously, her relationships with the people that washed up on Ogygia were all different. Some delved into the physical or even romantic side, while others remained strictly platonic, but one thing was entirely set in stone: Edelgard always, _always_ fell for them, and they could never, _ever_ stay.

Something always bind them to the outside world, be it a spouse, their family, duty, unfinished business– or they simply did not see the appeal in spending eternity on this island, away from the light of the goddess. Edelgard did not hold it against them, but she was only human, and it was still devastating when she was rejected time and time again.

She’s dragged back to the present when Hilda picks up one of the charcoals, rolls it between her fingers, her tone conversational and detached when she says:

“Long ago, someone tried to openly rebel against the Church,” Hilda begins, “They were wiped from history, along with their supporters. A puppet Emperor of Rhea’s choosing now rules Adrestia,” as Hilda swallows, Edelgard’s heartrate picks up speed, “Claude uncovered some of the truth from the Shadow Library, in a place called Abyss. He decided to finish what the revolutionary set in motion, so many years ago.”

It would be so easy to speak up, to reveal herself. And she wants to, _she has to_ , but Edelgard is frozen, and her limbs won’t move, her mouth will not open.

“Anyway, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I’m sure Byleth filled you in,” a faraway look crosses Hilda’s face, and Edelgard starts to feel brave. She holds on to a surge of courage and prays it goes over well. Before she can, Hilda’s gaze lands on her once more, “You know, it took me an embarrassing amount of time to realize, but there’s _a lot_ of people in Fodlan who suffer a lot under the system in place.”

 _Now_.

“I know that, for I am one of them.” Edelgard waits a beat, two, before her confession: “I am the Flame Emperor.”

At first, it’s as if the words don’t register at all.

Hilda blinks in confusion like she just spoke in Almyran or the language of Dagda, and she drops the charcoal, her fingers smudged with black. It’s like she’s waiting for Edelgard to announce the joke, for her to follow up with the punchline that should surely follow such a statement.

The seconds drag on, but she eventually recovers. Hilda’s eyebrows shoot up and her lips purse with interest, “You… you’re kidding, right? Wow, Rhea really did a number on your legacy. A _Hresvelg_? You’re a _Hresvelg_? I thought they all died or went mad after the Insurrection of the Seven.”

Edelgard shrugs her shoulders all the way to her ears, uncomfortable at the sudden attention and the unburied memory. She murmurs, “The legacy of House Hresvelg ends with me.”

It feels like it was a lifetime ago that she was the Imperial princess, when she declared war on the Church of Seiros, and when her friends from the Black Eagle house decided to join her on her crimson path.

Her miscalculations, her arrogance, her fall from grace– now, _that_ felt all-too-fresh still. She wonders if it was part of her divine punishment to have her failures weigh so heavily on her so often, or if it was entirely her doing this to herself.

She doesn’t know if she likes the way Hilda is looking at her, wonder and conflict plain on her face, and Edelgard can practically see the gears turning in her head, connecting dots, linking up the bits and pieces of information to paint one complex picture.

“They… tried to erase your uprising, even your identity, from history, I guess you’ve already been told. We thought the Church killed the Flame Emperor. And then Claude picked up the mantel of what you… started, I guess,” Hilda’s still blinking hard, as if she expects her to poof out of existence at any second, “and here you were, all this time. They let you live.”

 _There are fates worse than death, wicked girl,_ she still remembers Rhea’s venomous tone when she was informed of what the gods that ruled their universe intended for her. They stripped her of her control, her power, her drive, but not strictly her _life_ if such an existence meant anything.

“I’d rather have been killed than live like this,” Edelgard growls before she can stop herself, as something cold and ugly bubbles up and out of her throat, “forever imprisoned here, with occasional heroes that wash up on my shores, wounded for me to heal, cursed to then helplessly fall–”

She screws her jaw shut before the words fly out, before Hilda learns that she’s inevitably destined to fall in love with her, that _that’s_ the big secret, her punishment, her curse. Panic floods her as a dark look crosses the other girl’s face.

Hilda’s eyes narrow into slits, and she watches her trace the pommel of her axe, “Wait, wait. The timeline isn’t adding up. You’re from King Dimitri’s generation, aren’t you? You should be, like, _super old_. The hair fits, but no skincare routine is _this_ miraculous.”

“As long as I am on this island, I am immortal unless killed,” Edelgard says, masking the relief she feels that Hilda did not register what she almost let slip, “They intend to punish me for eternity… and us puny humans live such short lives, they want to extend my torment for as long as they are able.”

Hilda bobs her head and says, “And if you manage to leave this island, do you just age super-fast, turn to dust, or–”

“No,” Edelgard says quickly, “I resume from where I left off, at the tender age of twenty-three years old. Not that I’m holding my breath,” she adds, and the words sit bitter on her tongue.

Edelgard had always thought her life’s string would be cut short by the Fates sooner rather than later. Two crests simply were not meant to coexist in a living organism for longer than a few decades, if her unnatural hair color was any indication. Her life expectancy had been significantly altered, and now her days were filled with so much wasted and unnecessary _time_ that she did not even know what to do with it. Yes, she had been given the time she had longed for, but it was so meaningless now that dying young did not seem so unappealing.

The sudden gleam in Hilda’s eye is one she does not understand, until the other girl says, “I have some experience assisting in the breaking of curses,” and _she winks_ , “My friend Marianne can attest to that. I’ll get ya out of here. But first… tell me about the raft that’s supposed to show up.”

Edelgard is a bit overwhelmed by every single thing that just came out of her mouth, and she quickly squashes down the flicker of hope that stirs in her chest at the confident and casual way she said _I’ll get you out of here_. The most dangerous thing she had ever allowed herself on this hellish island was to _hope_.

A foolish nuisance like _that_ had no place in her halls.

“Yes, a raft will show up when the island deems it time for you to leave,” Edelgard says carefully. “Some conditions have to be met, first.”

“Ugh! And _let me guess_ ,” Hilda’s exasperated voice makes her shrink back, “these _conditions_ are the ones you refuse to tell me about, isn’t that right?” she slaps her hand down on the table, “ _How_ am I supposed to meet them if you won’t tell me?”

Edelgard tries her best to remain calm, but she hates that Hilda’s rightful ire is directed at her, “ _You_ don’t have to do anything. The raft showing is… is entirely reliant on something concerning _me_.”

“Then call the fucking thing already!”

Logically, she can understand that Hilda losing her temper is something that shouldn’t be at all surprising, given how frustrated she must be feeling, but Edelgard feels ashamed all the same.

“I can’t just call it on a whim! But don’t worry. The raft _will_ show,” Edelgard’s voice is thick and dripping with resentment despite her best efforts at hiding it, “It _always_ does.”

Hilda groans and buries her face in her hands, “You’re insufferable, _gods_!”

Before she can retort, the weak chirping sound of Hubert stirring makes her heart leap. Edelgard shifts her eyes towards the axe-wielding girl, and decides she doesn’t care anymore if the sharp end of it is pointed her way again. She doubts Hilda would attack her unless seriously provoked, or in self-defense.

Edelgard rushes to his side and kneels down, feeling around for his pulse. Relief washes over her as she feels it, strong and steady, under her palm. He’s dazed, but relatively unhurt. Thankfully, Hilda didn’t hit him _that_ hard.

“Linhardt, a little help?” she murmurs, and she’s positive that if the Hevring heir had had a body, he would be rolling his eyes, but she feels the splash of healing magic travel across Hubert’s dark plumage all the same, “Thank you.”

Hilda doesn’t move from her seat at the table as she asks, “Who is Linhardt?”

“My friend-turned wind spirit,” Edelgard grumbles. “My… collaborators were also punished when everything fell apart.”

She fights the tears that threaten to well up in her eyes and tries not to lament too much the fates of her friends, her Black Eagles, her chosen family. For years, she had been plagued by what befell every single one of them, and luckily, she managed to make her peace with it before guilt and grief drove her mad.

Dorothea’s beautiful voice had been weaponized, and they made her into a monstrous siren with algae for hair that dragged unsuspecting sailors to their deaths. Caspar’s unusual and cruel punishment? To bear the literal weight of the world on his shoulders, holding up the sky, and everyday Edelgard wished he would just shrug it off and let the entire thing come crashing down.

Sometimes she still had night terrors about Jeritza’s fate. His bloodlust and aggression towards the goddess Cethleann got him one of the worst torments: chained to a rock, day after day, with a demonic beast pecking at his ever-regenerating liver for all eternity.

Before being banished to her island, Edelgard got a ‘privileged’ tour from Seiros herself showing off the fates of her conspirators, along with the Blue Lion’s army after their victory. She still remembered the face of Mercedes von Martritz when she saw her little brother strung there, and during her stay, Bernadetta informed her that the Kingdom healer had defected from Dimitri’s side not long after that. Her whereabouts were unknown.

Ferdinand and Constance were hostages in the Empire, a puppet Emperor and his Empress under a sham marriage, living under Rhea’s thumb, stripped of any real agency or power over their lives after House Hresvelg fell. She knew Ferdinand’s father had run things for a while, just as he’d always dreamed of, before stepping down in favor of his son.

From what little information Edelgard had, her traitorous uncle, Lord Arundel, seemed to still be pulling the strings from the shadows. His niece may have been defeated, but him and his minions still managed to operate from behind the scenes, opposing the gods in secret, as they had from the beginning of time. She wondered if Claude, too, had made some sort of unholy alliance with them, or if they were truly without allies. Most of her recent outside knowledge came from Byleth, but from what she gathered, they had grown up quite sheltered, somehow _away_ from the Church’s influence despite hosting the primordial goddess in their head, and they didn’t talk an awful lot.

It provided her with some comfort that Hubert and Linhardt had been allowed to remain with her, one as a bird, and the other a whimsical, body-less wind spirit that sometimes helped out around the island and had luckily retained his healing magic.

“Oh… _oh_ , I bet that thing used to be human,” Hilda doesn’t even raise her voice at the end of the question, but she knows she means Hubert.

“You would be correct.” Edelgard says, pressing the dazed bird close to her chest, trying to comfort him. He may have been human, once, and a powerful dark mage, but he was much more fragile in this form. He seemed to lose more of himself every passing day.

The former Minister of the Imperial Household remained loyal as ever, but she didn’t know just how much of his former self remained in there. Some days they could play a rewarding game of handcrafted chess, and others she found him pecking at the soil with nothing there.

Hilda clicks her tongue and says, “Hey, random question… if I make you cry, will the raft show up?”

_…what in the blazes?_

“T-that’s absurd, why would you– _no_. No!” Edelgard’s actually stunned by the… _strangeness_ of that entire idea, and how it came to be. “How in the world did you come up with _that_ theory?”

All Hilda offers in response is a cryptic little smile and a shrug. “Just a dream I had, figured it was worth asking,” she then jumps out of the chair, hauls the massive axe over her shoulder, and Edelgard tries not to gape at the powerful definition of her arms, “Well! This was… enlightening enough. Sort of. Anyways, I’m off.”

She’d been alone for so long, Edelgard forgot just how emotionally draining a conversation with another person could be. Her brain fumbles for a response for longer than usual before she manages, “Where are you going _now_?”

“Well, I don’t know if I can trust you, since you won’t tell me what the hell it is I need to do to get out of this place.” Hilda says, “So, I’m going to build my own raft. I’ll be chopping down a couple of trees, hope you don’t mind!”

“I already told you, no one can _just leave_ ,” Edelgard tries to keep her irritation out of her voice and fails, “You’ll just be bounced right back. There’s– there’s an invisible barrier–”

“Yeah, whatever. It’s either that or enduring your company a second longer,” Hilda winks, and she somehow manages to make it look full of contempt, “And I _really_ don’t feel like doing that, if you insist on not being honest, _so_ … see you around, I guess.”

Again, Edelgard tries not to take her distrust _too_ personal, but it still stings. She sighs, “At least let Linhardt take a look at your wounds–”

“ _I’m fine_ ,” Hilda says, placing a defensive hand over the plane of her torso, “What you should be focusing your energy on is summoning the _real_ raft so I hopefully don’t have to make my own. Think you can do that?”

“I’m getting truly tired of having to repeat myself,” Edelgard feels the tips of her ears heat up, “I. Can’t. Summon. The. Raft.”

“I. Don’t. Care.” Hilda shoots back in the same halting manner, “Do whatever it is you need to do, or maybe I’ll try the crying thing. You could be lying about that, too.”

During her short life, Edelgard had been threatened with a great many things, but _making her cry_ was a brand-new one, and she doesn’t know how to feel about it, so she forces a derisive laugh, “I would actually love to see you try.”

Hilda pins her with a _look_ that sends liquid heat directly to her belly, “ _Don’t tempt me_ , Edelgard.”

And just like that, in a swirl of pink, she’s out the door and gone. Hubert twitters weakly against her chest, perhaps alarmed at the sudden spike in speed of her heartrate. Edelgard squeezes her eyes shut, feels her shoulders start to shake.

The curse was taking hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -In canon, Claude really needed a push to achieve his dreams, and I think Edelgard actually failing is a good one to set things in motion. I read thru some of his in-game dialogue and he literally says you shouldn’t leave your fate in the hands of a god, that you can only rely on yourself over praying to one, and that he believes in astrology over them... so yeah lol I think him being against them is pretty on-brand.
> 
> -Alsoo, its unfort, but in this story Petra and Bernie aren’t part of the Strike Force, but rather guests on the island. I hope it’s clear that Edelgard & Dimitri are from one moment in time, and the Golden Deer we know were born years later… since I do everything w/o a beta, I have no idea if my jumbled ideas make sense, but I’m trying hahha!


	4. four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hilda and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day… feat. the gods send her a vision from Claude and Co.

**4**

Hilda falls back into her old, shitty habits surprisingly fast.

Instead of channeling all her restless energy into building her escape raft, like she’d threatened to do, she ends up feeling sorry for herself for two entire days. Procrastination and laziness were a dangerous combo she’d grown out of as she stepped up to become Claude’s general in the war, but she was quickly and uncontrollably slipping back into their clutches.

Holst had been _so proud_ , to her eternal annoyance. Finally, his seemingly spoiled sister had found a cause, something greater than herself to pour all her time and effort into. He’d called it a _cause_ but, really, it had been entirely her _friends_ that made the hassle worth it. Their bond as Golden Deer meant more to her than simple words or actions could express.

So, yeah. She was feeling a little down, a little unmotivated. Hilda’s intrusion inside Edelgard’s home looking for answers had also left her with a sense of guilt at all the aggressiveness and entitlement she had displayed, and she felt like she should eventually apologize.

Even so, she felt it was somewhat justified– for _Byleth had been here_! Obviously, the professor lied when they said they had been “sleeping” for five years. Clearly, some magic had been involved, because she saw with her own two eyes how they fell down a giant chasm smack in the middle of the continent, nowhere near the sea.

Granted, _this_ situation would’ve been sucky to explain, too. _Ogygia_ as a whole would have been hard to sell, in addition to the fact that the famed Flame Emperor was still around and a Hresvelg at that. It was kinda funny to imagine Byleth struggling to explain that the person whose war they were finishing turned out to be some cold, bitter girl, cursed to live there forever.

To Hilda’s relief, there seemed to be no hard feelings from said girl, for every morning a basket of fresh fruit was waiting for her when she woke. Maybe she should bear an olive branch of her own and just make peace with Edelgard, although the Adrestian seemed determined not to like her for whatever reason.

Rhea had done a stellar job of painting the Flame Emperor to be a faceless, senseless boogey man. In collaboration with the Church, they had gone to great lengths to scrub Edelgard’s name from history, separating her from that persona. Honestly, Hilda only knew of the Hresvelg children because Claude’s favorite books consisted on the forbidden, mostly redacted type. If a text was banned, labeled “off-limits”, or frowned upon by the Church, then it was guaranteed to make it to Claude’s reading list.

*** * ***

The gods seem displeased with her inaction, for they end up sending Hilda a brand-new vision to renew her interest in escape.

After another day of sitting on her ass, wallowing in her own misery, godly hands scoop her into invisible palms and deposit her thousands of miles away as soon as her eyes slide shut. She recognizes the chaotic, disorganized mess that was Claude’s old room in their recently acquired base of operations at Garreg Mach.

The scene begins with Lorenz, of all people, entering the private space. He has to step between splayed books and discarded poison ingredients to reach the Duke. The Gloucester heir clicks his heels together in order to get Claude’s attention.

“We have thoroughly combed the shores beyond Ailell, as well as the neighboring territories of Daphnel and Derdriu… and we have come up empty-handed,” Lorenz winces at how the words sound, how they probably taste in his mouth.

Claude looks… well, he’s looked better. There’s a shadow cast over his face from the drawn blinds, and Hilda has to do a double take when her eyes land on him. His scruffy beard, which still hasn’t filled in but would one day look magnificent, had been seriously neglected. An awkward mustache was starting to grow above his lip, and had Hilda been there, she surely would have bullied him into shaving it.

She’s surprised to see not tea, but Almyran whiskey, sitting on a shot glass by his messy desk. Claude’s hands shake as he reaches for it and he downs it in one quick, burning gulp. He has a glint of wildness about him when shrewd green eyes land on Lorenz once more.

“We will spare no expense, leave no rock unturned,” Claude’s voice starts out low, but increases in volume as his sentence goes on, “we either find her alive, or we bring her home in a pink casket, but I want Hilda Goneril found!”

Hilda tries to talk for the umpteenth time in one of these dreams, but as always, she is merely here to spectate and to listen. She is not _really_ here, and that simple notion is sometimes too hard to wrap one’s head around when the people you wish to speak to seem to be _right there_.

Lorenz’s shoulders tense, “Claude. Be reasonable. She’s our friend as much as she is yours–” Claude actually _hisses_ at that, and the future count barrels on, “–but we’re in all-out war against the Church, Adrestia and Faerghus. We have made enemies of the gods themselves. Half our army hates the other half. We cannot… we cannot afford to have the likes of Lysithea or Balthus occupied with the search. Their talent and skill are all too valuable to keep away from the fray for long.”

Her best friend heaves himself out of the chair he’d been lounging on and begins to pace, stalking around the map of Fodlan pinned to his wall like an angry cat. Saying that he looks slightly unhinged would be an understatement. Hilda understood, for she felt much the same.

“Teach is hiding something,” Claude says, completely deaf to Lorenz’s logical arguments. “They’ve been acting strange ever since she disappeared. Well, stranger than usual. I wonder…”

“You think… Hilda is… in a coma, somewhere?” Lorenz says haltingly, trying to put himself on the schemer’s shoes. “Similar to what happened to Professor Byleth?”

Claude scratches at his patchy beard, “Yes, though I really hope _not_ for five years. We need her. I… I can’t do this without her. She’s… _gods_ , Hilda, where _the fuck_ are you!?”

For a split second, those familiar eyes snap up and seem to look right at her, and it’s like a punch to the gut; but in reality, they’re seeing right through her. He bares his teeth when he says, “If the gods know what’s in their best interest, they’ll give her back.”

“And how are you so certain that the gods are involved?”

Claude’s laugh is bitter, all-too livid. “When _aren’t_ they involved, should be the question. Her disappearance is too convenient to just be coincidental. I don’t buy this. Something is at play, here. I can’t put my finger on it. And it’s _driving me nuts_.”

He stands stupidly close to the map, with his nose almost touching the fine strokes of ink. Claude’s gloved fingers trace the general area of her disappearance right near Ailell, all the way across the water to Fraldarius territory. She really hopes Claude doesn’t convince himself she’s all the way _over there_ and organizes a suicide-mission just to check.

“Should I call Byleth in here?” Lorenz looks skeptical, but there’s a sudden glint in his eyes, “Perhaps they can enlighten us.”

As if on cue, there’s a curt, distinct knock on the door, and Byleth Eisner marches in with an urgency that was rare to see in their step. Claude swivels around, but there’s no hint of the usual smile on his face whenever he greeted his beloved teacher.

“Claude. We need to talk,” their professor says, eyes steely and godly green. They stand next to Lorenz, who towers over everyone else in the room. Byleth clears their throat and adds, “about where I was, what happened. It is time.”

Lorenz gapes at the perfect timing of it all, as if Claude had somehow planned it down to the minute. Maybe he had, Hilda wouldn’t put it past the Master Tactician. She suspects the Alliance leader had been steadily applying pressure and dropping hints, steering this outcome from the shadows so Byleth would come to him willingly. Either way, it’s _exactly_ what he wanted.

Props to him, seriously. If it’s just a coincidence, then it’s a damn convenient one, and maybe it should still be applauded. If this had been his intention all along, Claude doesn’t show it. He gives the newcomer that smile of his that does not reach his eyes.

“That sounds perfect, Teach.” Claude sweeps his hand at the extremely limited sitting space of his chamber, “Please. From the beginning?”

As the former mercenary awkwardly sit down on top of a stack of books and Lorenz perches himself on top of a series of traveling cases, Claude says gently, “Will this story shed some light on what happened to one Hilda Valentine Goneril?”

Byleth nods, “I believe so. Sothis has been pushing for members of our army to land on Ogygia for quite some time. She wrested control from her daughter Seiros.”

“Ogygia,” Claude repeats, his brows furrowing. “That’s… hm. Why does it sound familiar?”

“It’s a prison-island. Ignatz is the one that found the redacted records in Abyss,” Lorenz drawls, “Most of it was blacked out, completely censored by Cichol I expect, but it’s some sort of abandoned island. Though I fail to see why it’s relevant.”

“Not abandoned,” Byleth quips, “for Edelgard von Hresvelg, the Flame Emperor, lives there.”

Claude’s eyes go wide with shock, and Lorenz chokes on his own spit.

“ _WHAT?_ ”

* * *

Her dream featuring Claude and Co., is the wake-up call Hilda needed to fire up her resolve once more. The half-baked raft plan was back on the table, and despite her hostess’ warnings, it was worth a shot if she still would not reveal the secret to the _real one_ showing up.

Hilda also decides she should give Edelgard some new charcoals to draw with as a peace offering. She was looking for wood, anyway, right? Hilda could spare some in favor of the arts. Holst had taught her how to make some ages ago, for cooking purposes, and despite it being a kinda tedious process, she could put in the effort just this once. Maybe she’d even get one of those rare, lovely smiles for her trouble.

Oak or hickory would be best, Holst always said, but Hilda wasn’t a nerd, so she didn’t actually _know_ how to tell them apart from other types of trees. The small forest was no trouble to navigate, and she was being quite picky about which tree to cut down.

Her pickiness saves her life.

If she’d settled for one and busied herself with chopping it down, blunting her axe in the process and having her back turned, Hilda would have been toast; but her indecisiveness proves useful for once. 

A blur of gold leaps out of the shadows, agile and snarling. If it wasn’t for her crest activating, it may have tore out her throat. Hilda’s Crest of Goneril coerces her muscles into an immediate counterattack, and a regular creature would have been sliced in half, but her sharp blade bounces off harmlessly like it’s made of rubber.

She rolls to the side and takes a defensive crouch, as her ambusher begins circling her with shiny, blood-red eyes. It had picked a small clearing to conduct its assault.

It was a demonic beast.

She was mostly an idiot when it came to knowing her mythological monsters, but this is one Hilda was familiar with. It _had to_ be the inspiration behind the Blue Lion’s banner, the creature known as the Nemean Lion, renowned for its invincible skin.

Some Faerghian god (Dominic, Fraldarius?) must want her _gone_. The beast is smaller than an adult wyvern, but all-too-big for a regular feline. The fur is a metallic gold, which shimmers and catches the light in a way that would be beautiful if it wasn’t so dangerous and _so_ inconvenient for her.

“What are you doing here?” she asks it, and all she gets is a low, guttural growl in response. _Figures_. Sometimes the gods used these things as mouthpieces, warnings or omens of sorts, but this one did _not_ seem interested in talking.

These things were usually best defeated with a well-practiced combination of teamwork. Alas, _that_ was not possible. Hilda was one of the few Golden Deer who could take on demonic beasts with only a battalion to assist her. Unfortunately for her, no battalion was here to cook up a gambit that would lower these thing’s defenses enough for her to land a solid hit.

Her arm still feels like jelly from her hit bouncing off the lion’s metallic coat, but she doesn’t have time to fully steady herself, as the beast pounces again and tries to rake her with its claws.

Hilda manages to hack at it with her axe, but the blade just clangs uselessly against its fur in a burst of sparks. She hisses between her teeth and manages to somersault away– the landing is awkward, and the soles of her feet send a shockwave of pain up the back of her legs.

The vaguely star-shaped crest that pops above the lion’s head lets her know the asshole god behind this: Blaiddyd. Oh, _shit_. The patron of King Dimitri’s crested blood was responsible for this little debacle.

The landing leaves her in an extremely unfavorable position, and the beast’s next swipe might’ve spelled the end of her mediocre, short life– if not for the well-placed tomahawk that smacks it between the eyes.

A regular lion would’ve dropped dead with such a weapon embedded in the middle of its face, for that was one of the best ranged axes. But this was no normal lion. Its armored fur deflects the hit, but it’s powerful enough that it dazes the creature for a few precious moments.

Hilda, panting and spent, looks up to see Edelgard looking like some sort of warrior-princess… which, _well_ , objectively speaking, she kinda _was_. The golden circlet on her head ties the look together, and for the first time, Hilda notices the toned biceps on her arms. She’s holding one of those shitty rusted axes with a blunted blade best used in training, but her gaze is so fierce you’d think she was holding a silver one. It’s with a pang of dread that Hilda realizes she just tossed her best weapon to distract the beast long enough to save her life.

“Are you alright?” Edelgard asks. She does not look at her, keeping those lavender eyes trained on the mewling creature, but Hilda catches the concern in her voice.

“Thanks to you,” Hilda manages, and quickly scrambles to her feet. She knows she’s being entirely fueled by adrenaline, if the protests her knees give are any indication, but she manages to stand all the same.

Edelgard’s next words are interrupted by the lion growling and baring its gleaming fangs, which Hilda just now realizes resemble stainless steel. It charges them after pawing at the ground, sort of like a bull, and they dive to the side in unison.

Fighting alongside Edelgard isn’t… terrible. It’s very easy, actually. Claude would _die_ from jealously when he found out Hilda had teamed up with his idol, the Flame Emperor.

Edelgard has this commanding pull that Hilda can’t be help but be drawn by, not exactly like Byleth, but _close_ , and equally as effective in keeping her alive. It’s enough to delve into a dangerous dance that’s quite literally like a cat-and-mouse game, except the cat’s fur is impervious to damage, and the pink mouse is on the verge of a meltdown.

The demonic beast doesn’t seem to be getting tired, and unfortunately for the duo, there was only so much that a mortal body could take. Hilda isn’t entirely sure how she’s still standing, given how much her entire body fucking hates her right now, and even Edelgard’s breathing is getting labored. They were about to lose the game.

The sloppiness is further confirmed when Edelgard isn’t quite fast enough and gets nicked on the side by those claws. Red spots immediately bloom on that white dress she always wears, and Hilda’s scream dies in her throat when a gold symbol pops above Edelgard’s head.

A major crest was being activated. From the look of relief that graces Edelgard’s features, where one second ago had been a grimace, Hilda realizes it must be a healing one. Under the shredded part of her dress, the gash had probably been stitched together thanks to the crest’s power.

A bird’s shriek from high above makes their heads turn, demonic best included. Hilda _never_ thought she would feel such happiness at hearing that shrill, awful sound, but Hubert’s arrival is enormously uplifting.

“ _Finally_ ,” Edelgard grumbles beside her, bringing her forearm up to wipe at some sweat gathered on her brow. For the first time since this shitshow started, their eyes meet, and that magnetism from before increases tenfold when they do. Hilda’s heart speeds up if at all humanely possible.

She doesn’t have time to ponder what _that_ means, as Hubert screeches again, louder than before, and the lion shakes its mane as if trying to rid itself of the timbre. Come to think of it, Hilda’s not actually sure what a bird that’s half her size was going to do against a murderous kittycat.

Her question is answered pretty quickly.

Hubert dives down like a silver bullet and manages to _claw the lion’s eyes out_ with those wicked talons, leaving behind two bloodied sockets that make Hilda’s stomach roll. The beast roars in agony, snapping at empty air where Hubert has long flown out of reach. It roars, blind and furious, and Hilda looks up to see beyond those fangs– inside its maw, a pink tongue and a fleshy throat. This told her one very vital, crucial thing:

The lion had weak spots.

It gives Hilda an idea. An idea, that if she managed to botch, would leave her weaponless and optionless. Edelgard’s self-description of “ _immortal unless killed_ ” was one that clearly did not extend to Hilda’s fragile mortality.

She knows her move will completely tear and damage whatever progress she had made with that healed chest of hers, but she has no other choice. A hand axe or a short axe (hell, even Edelgard’s missing tomahawk) would have been the ideal weapon, but all Hilda has is one oversized, hefty iron axe. It would have to do.

The lion opens it maws to continue to scream in pain, and Hilda chucks the axe with every ounce of strength she can muster. Even if she’d been fully healed, it would have been a feat in and of itself, but when injured, it very nearly makes her pass out from the pain that travels up her arm.

She knows praying is pointless, as the axe is already cutting across the air, but she does it anyway. One quick plea to Goneril to take pity on his wayward child. 

It connects.

As suspected, the inside of its mouth was vulnerable to attack. She watches in morbid fascination as the sharp end of her axe slices cleanly through. As the monster’s soul is returned to the Underworld, its whole body bursts into a shower of gold dust, leaving behind a metallic-colored pelt. Now _this_ was a valuable item.

“Spoil of war,” Hilda grins, “Nice.”

Her grin wobbles, and she promptly lurches forward.

A strong arm catches her around the waist before she can find out what the blood-stained earth tastes like. _Eww_. It’s Edelgard’s blood. Almost immediately, she remembers the other woman is perfectly fine because of her Crest, but the sight still makes her nauseous.

“Linhardt, we need ambrosia or a vulnerary. _Immediately_.” Edelgard’s grounding voice is the only thing around her that’s not spinning uncontrollably.

A weak gust of wind lets her know her bodyless friend is quick to oblige Edelgard’s order, and not for the first time, she wonders how someone banished by the gods still has access to nectar and ambrosia. She can’t question it for long, for her head starts to swim with fuzzy stars that blur her vision.

Hilda whimpers as her legs give out from under her, and suddenly Edelgard’s supporting _all_ of her weight with ease. Her little stunt with the flying axe, while effective, had certainly been crazy taxing on her body.

“You could have told me the plan,” Edelgard says, not unkindly, right against her ear, “and I could have done that axe throw myself. You are going to be sore for _days_.”

She feels like a scolded puppy, and Hilda goes limp in Edelgard’s embrace. Her other arm circles Hilda’s waist as well, holding her up fully. The positioning is a little awkward, but her body has stopped responding. “There was no time,” Hilda says, “if it had closed its mouth, we were dead. It was the only–”

“–the only vulnerable part that remained,” Edelgard finishes, and there’s a strangeness to her voice. If Hilda had to bet, she may even call it fondness. But gambling was Baltie’s thing, not hers. “Yes, you were very clever. But you overexerted yourself. That axe is quite heavy, and you placed all of its weight in one arm. You probably tore something.”

Hubert squawks from somewhere in the treetops, and she feels Edelgard hesitate before she adds, “Linhardt is having a little difficulty finding the ambrosia, and it’s not like Hubert can carry you. I suppose it falls to me.”

“Wha–”

Hilda’s question turns into a squeal when Edelgard spins her around and brings an arm under her knees, the other at her back, sweeping her up into a bridal-style carry. She feels heat immediately rise to her face, and hopes that Edelgard chalks it up to exertion and not to how stupid hot she found the idea of being carried like this.

Her arms flail before they tentatively land around Edelgard’s neck, and there’s an uncomfortable pull to her left arm that makes her wince. She looks up at Edelgard’s profile and says, “Thanks, I think?”

Edelgard just nods, and she quickly makes her way out of the forest and back to the house; the Adrestian probably knew these woods like the back of her hand. Just like in battle, the short girl is deceptively strong, and she carries Hilda all the way back without any trouble.

Hilda has _questions_ , some more pressing than others, and she wonders if the last von Hresvelg would be willing to answer _one_ , let alone _any_ of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Okay was anybody going to mention that Lorenz is like? suuper tall?? among the top 5 tallest students! or was I just supposed to find out while googling the character height chart for the billionth time?


	5. five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard lets her guard down, long enough for Hilda to realize that maybe Ogygia's owner is not That Bad After All.

**5**

The next few hours are a blur. For once, Hilda is conscious, which is good, because she can feed herself the ambrosia that’s offered to her in a strange, lumpy presentation. Perhaps it’s a lower quality, or not aesthetically pleasing enough for the gods to consume. It’s not as appealing as the cute little cubes nobles usually had access to, but it does the trick.

The godly food melts in her tongue, and in true ambrosia fashion it tastes just like two-fish saute, her all-time favorite meal. It warms her all over, and it’s so comforting she almost expects Holst to walk through the door to greet her. The pain in her body becomes but a dull throb. Faith-based magic was all well and good, as were vulneraries, but if you could get your hands on nectar or ambrosia, those worked wonders, especially for crest bearers.

She’s back on Edelgard’s bed and below the covers, in that cramped little room where she woke a few days ago after her emergency landing here in Ogygia. This time, the other girl actually sits beside her on the bed, legs folded under her, and feeds her small bites of the healing food. Somehow, murderous lion included, _this_ is the strangest thing that’s happened to her all day.

“May I ask why a full-grown Nemean Lion was taking a stroll through the woods?” Hilda asks as casually as she can, and she tries her very best not to sound accusatory. “Has it always been there, and I was just blind?”

Edelgard sighs through her nose, gives a slight shake of her head. “The gods like to keep me on my toes. I apologize that you got caught in an attack that was meant for me,” she offers another small morsel that Hilda accepts and quickly wolfs down, as Edelgard continues, “not all of the minor gods are fond of the major ones, despite being granted godhood by them. Some take pity on me, for they were human once too. They can come and go as they please, and sometimes they visit me, even bringing gifts,” she gestures vaguely in the direction of the other room, “like that marble table, oil, fibers… other times, they only add to my torment. Blaiddyd in particular hates me, you may imagine why.”

Hilda _ahs_ softly. She knew some gods disagreed with Rhea’s leadership, even if the system benefitted them, while others adored her. The new rift between the gods was important. Sothis did not seem to approve of Rhea’s administration, and had turned against her own children in favor of humanity. Some days Hilda still struggled to grasp the complexity behind it. 

“Do they also hate you because you wanted to dismantle the nobility system?” Hilda asks. Lysithea had been a huge fan of the mythical Flame Emperor, had sat down and explained their manifesto more than once. She tries to remember the word she used…

Hilda snaps her fingers when it finally comes to her, “Uh, a _meritocracy_?”

“Yes, that’s what I wanted.” Edelgard says. She gets a faraway look in her eyes, “The Faerghian gods especially enjoy the status their descendants get due to their blood, for the sole fact of being related to them. They’re the most cruel, too. I’m sure you’ve heard about what happened with one of the sons of Margrave Gautier. I went to school with Sylvain, the youngest.”

“Who hasn’t?” an involuntary shiver travels down Hilda’s spine, for the brutal fate of Miklan Gautier served as a cautionary tale for families that dared disrespect the gods and forgot their place in the cosmos.

Edelgard tilts her head, curiosity dancing in her eyes. “Byleth rarely talked about Claude’s ideals, but as I understand it, they are not so far removed from my own. You agree with his vision?”

“I guess that’s true. In another life, maybe you two could have worked together,” Hilda says, and her best friend’s entire ideology easily slips from her tongue, “For Claude, it’s all about seeing people for their true abilities, not for their lineage or social standing,” she takes a pause to admire the faint smile Edelgard gives, before finishing, “and to give them the freedom to pursue positions that match those abilities.”

It’s heartwarming to see the actual _Flame Emperor_ approve of Claude’s path. The character Edelgard played was a huge inspiration behind their movement, and Hilda felt a little mad at the Professor for not sharing such a game-changer with them. Their bullshit story about sleeping for five years still caused her an involuntary eye twitch whenever she recalled that stressful time.

A pleasant breeze announces the return of their designated healer, the sleepy crest scholar that seemed to come and go as he pleased. Linhardt does a few rounds of Physic, and when a draft of wind blows by Edelgard’s hair, she says, “I’m fine, Lin. I know there appears to be blood, but it’s taken care of.”

Without thinking, Hilda reaches out her fingers to brush them against Edelgard’s side, where the lion had raked her. The now-brownish spots of blood, no longer fresh and vibrant red, stand out against the otherwise stark white of her sleeveless dress. She knows there won’t be a trace of the slash on the skin beneath.

“It’s lucky that your crest popped,” Hilda says. She could leave it at that, she really could, but she feels _impertinence_ claw its way up her throat and out of her mouth, “I didn’t know Hresvelgs carried a healing crest.”

Edelgard makes an unhappy noise in the back of her throat, knowing she’d been found out, but Hilda didn’t want to _openly_ push it. Her similarities to a certain Ordelia girl were all too obvious now, the placement of scars too coincidental, and Hilda’s imagination was starting to run a little unchecked.

“I suppose it’s better if I just show you,” Edelgard says, the reluctance slowly ebbing away. A crest Hilda knows all too well is summoned to Edelgard’s open palm in a muted fuchsia color, a symbol all the Church’s knights wore on their armor and their banners. In her opinion, it kind of looked like a stylized torch.

The Crest of Seiros.

“I was… _blessed_ with this one,” Edelgard murmurs, and she says _blessed_ with the same enthusiasm one would say _Seteth’s dirty socks_ , “You can imagine what absolute scandal it was for a direct descendant of Wilhelm the First to openly rebel against the Church. Rhea was… well, enraged does not do it justice,” she folds her fingers into a fist to extinguish the image, “Seiros was so incensed that she shed all human pretense. She turned herself into her dragon form, the Immaculate One, and attacked friend and foe alike. I recall she caved in half of Garreg Mach during her rampage.”

It’s like she was describing Hilda’s own experience. She supposed history tended to repeat itself. Maybe that’s why Rhea had looked so completely demented when Byleth sat on the Throne of Knowledge and did not receive a revelation from the progenitor goddess– the same day that Claude had declared he intended to pick up the Flame Emperor’s mantle to chase out the corrupt Church. Rhea had been reliving what happened with Edelgard decades ago, only this time, Sothis herself, through Byleth, seemed to be against her too.

History demonized the Flame Emperor, and then glossed over the majority of the details. It didn’t do a good enough job of explaining how an emperor with over 10 children ended up abdicating the throne that his house had held for _centuries_ in favor of the Prime Minister’s son. How any of _that_ had been framed to look legal at all was beyond Hilda’s comprehension, but then again, gods had always felt above mortal institutions.

Forbidden texts and banned books from the library in Abyss had been largely to thank for Claude’s big enlightenment. The Church had worked long and hard to scrub history and shape it to their convenience, but Claude von Riegan worked harder. Hilda still remembered the way those green eyes sparkled when he’d often explain, “ _every lie incurs a debt to the truth, and sooner or later that debt must be repaid._ ”

On that same smooth palm, Edelgard summons the symbol that had healed her in battle. Upon closer inspection, Hilda realizes why it was so familiar– it’s the same figure that occasionally appeared over Byleth Eisner’s head, and was the crest of the goddess that governed the world. “This one, my second crest… the Crest of Flames,” Edelgard’s voice cracks a little, “was forced on my body, via blood reconstruction surgery. My siblings–”

Hilda gently places one hand over the Adrestian’s upturned one, dissolving the symbol. “You don’t need to revisit painful memories. I… I know enough. Claude pieced together the fate of the Hresvelg children, and we have a friend that…” Hilda swallows, recalling the way Lysithea’s eyes had gone completely dark when she confided her painful history with the rest of the Golden Deer, and the way those rosy eyes had blazed when Claude had promised the Agarthans would not have a place in Fodlan’s new dawn.

“My friend, Lysithea von Ordelia,” Hilda tries again, and watches recognition flicker in Edelgard’s eyes at the family name, “She has a crest of Gloucester, and one from Charon.”

Usually when people heard _that_ , the blatant violation of an elemental principle of crests, their eyes boggled out of their sockets, for _how_ could a mortal be blessed by the gods with not one _but two_ crests? And how did their body withstand so much power coursing through their veins without their blood catching on fire? It was absurd, unheard of, _unnatural_.

And yet.

And yet, she had watched the small mage wield the hero’s relic Thyrsus better than Lorenz could ever hope to. Once, after a reunion of the Knights during the festivities of Saint Seiros Day, Lysithea had tried out the retired Catherine’s weapon when she thought no one was looking. The younger girl had wielded Thunderbrand like it was just a common sword, with incredible ease, her Crest of Charon humming with power. Both compatible with her crests, both perfectly balanced in her hands.

Edelgard looks both distraught and furious at the revelation, and it takes her a long while to answer. When she does, her voice is quiet, and sad. “Yes, Byleth often spoke about their youngest student. Lysithea… she shouldn’t have had to live through that. I wish that it had ended with _me_.”

It was a pain Hilda couldn’t come close to fathom; one she had a hard time relating with. She wonders if Lysithea’s hard edges and deep-seated sadness, that burden she seemed to carry around everywhere, would have been easier to bear if someone like Edelgard had been around.

“Right after we remove the corrupt Church, the Agarthans will be next,” Hilda says, and it’s a promise. “We’re working to find their stronghold. Lysithea and Yuri think it may be in Leicester, but it’s… tricky to pinpoint, to say the least.”

“Agarthans,” Edelgard repeats, as she quirks an eyebrow in her loyal bird’s direction, “So their true name has become public knowledge. Hubert coined the term _those who slither in the dark_.” 

The former human looks up, his beady little eyes alert, knowing he’s being talked about. “That’s a mouthful, Hu-bird,” Hilda tells him.

He screeches something at her in return, which she assumes is bird-language for _fuck off_ , and Hilda grins. She wonders what he would have looked like, back in the day. She knew _of_ the Vestras, from reputation alone, and the best Holst had managed to come up with when asked was to say they were ‘ _skinny and kinda pasty_.’

“Say, what did he look like? You know, when he was human,” Hilda says, seizing the opportunity to talk about less depressing subjects. “I’m thinking permanent scowl, greasy hair? Lil’ creepy?”

Edelgard hides a snort behind her hand, and if birds could look murderous, this one sure did. Usually, a look like _that_ would get her to back off, but she was too obsessed with the enchanting sound of the other girl’s laugh to care very much. She wanted to hear it again.

“What? Did I nail it?” Hilda prods, and Hubert seems to have had enough of her for the day, as he takes flight, but not before trying to peck the top of her head on his way out the window. It’s almost begrudgingly friendly.

“It’s not fair when he can’t defend himself,” Edelgard eventually says, still with that stunning smile on her face. “However, I _will_ admit the scowl part may hold some merit.”

An unnatural breeze ruffles Hilda’s hair, and Edelgard adds, “I don’t mean to validate you, but Linhardt agrees with you.”

“I think Linhardt is my kind of person,” Hilda says.

“Oh, yes,” Edelgard nods. “He was always quite fond of napping and lazing about, too.”

Hilda’s mouth pops open in mock-offense, “Hey! How do you even _know_ that? You’ve seen me be nothing but diligent.”

“Byleth,” Edelgard replies immediately, and gets a strange look on her face. “I’m starting to think them a liar, however. They said you often claimed to have _noodly little arms_ , but the evidence suggests otherwise.”

She gives a meaningful look to the nice, powerful lines of Hilda’s arms, and the Goneril girl pouts. “I _am_ a delicate flower, you know? I’m just… particularly good at beating things to a pulp, is all,” she rolls her eyes, “What else did Byleth say? Did they slander my good name?”

Edelgard bites her lip, and Hilda realizes the other girl was becoming aware of just how much she’d been smiling, and was censoring her own self, retreating back into the safety of her mask. It bums her out, because, underneath that cold exterior, Hilda was starting to truly enjoy her company.

“Everything they said, you seem to have aged out of,” Edelgard says, in that diplomatic voice Claude tended to use at the roundtable to avoid ruffling any feathers. “Byleth thought you had an aversion to disappointing others, a fear of not meeting their expectations… among other things.”

“I guess that’s true. But! Five years is a long time,” Hilda tries not to look sheepish. “I was a little shit back in Garreg Mach. Chores, activities, even battles– I always found someone else to do ’em for me. I banked too much on my natural talent, too.” Hilda sighs, not sure why she’s being so open but continues regardless, “I fell behind. Everyone was moving on to their advanced classes and I was still stuck as a brigand in the intermediate tier,” she averts her gaze, “So that’s… that’s when I decided to put in the work. My friends were counting on me, and I… wanted to do good by them.”

Edelgard nods, looking pleased, but doesn’t say anything. Weird as it might sound, she seemed to just be… internally debating herself. There was a stiffness to her shoulders that Hilda liked to think she was _not_ responsible for, so she tries to deflect from whatever is bothering her, “Do you think we would have been friends?”

It’s a strange question, she knows. But they _did_ go to the Officer’s Academy, however short their time there might have been due to similar reasons. They had that in common, at the end of the day. They dined in the same halls, slept in the dorms, trained at the same grounds, favored the same weapon. In the end, they attacked the same corrupt institution.

“Hm?” Edelgard says, and she seems surprised by the question, but quickly recovers. “I don’t know, Hilda. It’s hard to say. I would have been a Black Eagle, and you a Golden Deer. I… have a borderline unhealthy work ethic, and you…”

She trails off, her cheeks going pink, and Hilda laughs, “And I was a lazy piece of shit? Gotcha, gotcha.” Edelgard’s mouth opens in protest, but Hilda continues, “No, no, it’s fine. I know I was. Eh, I think I agree with you. I probably would have hated your guts a little, to be honest.”

“What? Why?” Edelgard looks so affronted by that, so cute and indignant, Hilda can’t help but want to see more emotions out of the usually cold girl.

“It sounds like a bad thing, but it’s not!” Hilda promises. “I like my relationships to have a little bit of tension, you know? It keeps things interesting. And you just… I don’t know. You’re so prim and proper.” Hilda grins, tilts her head to the side, “I think we would’ve sparked off each other like flint. But, like, in a _fun_ way.”

As intended, Edelgard’s face flushes a deep red, and Hilda chuckles. It was _so_ easy to push her buttons, it almost wasn’t fair. Nevertheless, the consequences of teasing Edelgard, however lightly, soon become apparent, as the Adrestian jumps off the bed and heads for the door.

“You should get some rest,” Edelgard says, with her back to Hilda so she can’t see her expression. “And for everyone’s sake, I think it’s better that you stay here. We don’t know that they sent that lion by its lonesome. Sometimes, they come in pairs.”

“Aww, but do you _have to_ leave? We were _bonding_ ,” Hilda whines.

Edelgard cranes her head over her shoulder to look at Hilda, and makes an exasperated sound. “I have things to do. Right now I’m the sole provider, after all. We can schedule an arguing session later, if you want.”

Hilda’s quick to reply to her rhetorical proposal, “Does six work for you? I have some grievances against you I’d love to get your thoughts on.”

“Hah. That’s fine by me,” the corner of Edelgard’s lips rises in an absolutely dazzling smile that leaves Hilda’s heart skittering even after she’s long gone.

 _Ah_.

Oh, _no_. Oh, _fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Aw, they're finally getting along!  
> \- So! Let me just say, a lot of the Claude here is inspired by his interactions in the Heroes game, I liked his portrayal there that shows he’s not just some meme man, but actually his vision is pretty similar to Edelgard’s, which I love.  
> \- this one will be the shortest of all, but as it tends to be with most of my stories, chap 6 is probably my fav, so, something to look forward to!! i'm not making the mistake of uploading on the weekend again, bc stuff gets buried stupid fast, soo... see you on monday B)


	6. six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the attack from the Nemean Lion, a strange mood surrounds the two demigod inhabitants of Ogygia.

**6**

After the attack from the demonic beast, everything changes.

They take turns sleeping in Edelgard’s sole bed, rotating with the makeshift cot, and it’s not a terrible arrangement. Hilda seems glad that her experience sleeping outdoors was behind her, and she’s significantly less grumpy. The days start to bleed together with no sign of another lurking creature on the island, but neither girl brings it up. Besides, Hilda is finally allowing her wounds to properly heal, so with ample rest and a proper diet, it does wonders to uplift her mood.

Edelgard tries to stop being so wary and hostile, but she still acts overly protective of herself by mostly keeping her distance, as the tendrils of the curse begin to slowly wrap around her heart. It’s tough to continue with business-as-usual, that being her scavenging, cooking, using the loom and drawing portraits, as all her efforts only seem to do is bring her closer to the newest object of her frustrations.

Hilda quickly finds something to pour her antsy energy into: crafting. Be it with shells from the beach, or the natural obsidian found around the island, the Alliance noble begins making all sorts of accessories and jewelry pieces to pass the time. She is seriously talented, and one of the first pleasant conversations between them revolves around Hilda admitting that after the war, if she survived the wrath of the gods, wanted to start an artisan academy.

With scraps of cloth, Hilda makes Hubert a bowtie, and although at the time the shrewd bird feigned reluctance, Edelgard caught him wearing it more than once, which she had to admit was incredibly charming.

Things with the Goneril girl were progressing in a more organic manner than they had with anyone else before, and Edelgard feels vindicated in her decision to not tell Hilda all of the truth right away. Becoming close, even tentative _friends_ , was brand-new territory she was slowly navigating to the best of her abilities.

She usually gave her whole spiel about being doomed to inevitably fall in love with her guests, and it tended to put a damper on any possible natural progression. If they didn’t immediately feel pity for her or flat-out uncomfortable, there had been instances where they took advantage of the situation. 

This was… different.

Hilda was candid, and open, and just _fun_ , and it was… a breath of fresh air. She wore her heart on her sleeve and didn’t tiptoe around Edelgard. The normalcy of not being treated like she was made of glass or insanely intimidating was comforting, and left them on a somewhat equal plane she hadn’t enjoyed in a _very_ long time.

Edelgard wondered if telling her the truth would change things– change _everything_? Would she become distant? Uncomfortable? It wouldn’t be the first time. Even after rejection, the curse would take its course, making Edelgard develop strong feelings for people that didn’t always reciprocate.

Usually, she wasn’t sent people she would be averse to courting under different circumstances. No magic could perfectly achieve _that_. The whole point of making it torturous was to send heroes she could see herself actually _liking_. With Hilda, she suspected the Fate’s angle was to give her a complimentary opposite. Softness to Edelgard’s hard edges, relaxation to her rigidness, humor to her grim.

It made it all the more frustrating that she was starting to genuinely enjoy their dynamic, that her natural tension with Hilda made it all the much worse, and that it was near impossible to resist. Edelgard couldn’t say for certain if they would have been friends in Garreg Mach, but she’s confident that their clashing personalities would have at least made for an exhilarating rivalry with potential for… _more_.

That was another thing. Edelgard could _not_ figure out Hilda’s deal. Some days she seemed to be blatantly flirting, and oftentimes when she called her _babe_ it didn’t sound entirely sarcastic. _Other days_ , antagonizing Edelgard became her favorite sport. It was maddening, the constant push-and-pull of it all, and straight answers were hard to pry from her guest.

One cool, tranquil evening, after sharing rabbit stew and swapping war stories by the orchard, with Hilda lazily sipping on water straight from a coconut, she decides to just be straightforward:

“Are you and Claude romantically involved?”

It was a fair question. It made no difference to her curse. _Heavens_ , she’d been sent married and even freshly widowed heroes before, but she figured it was better to just _know_. Edelgard had tried to drill it into her head that she shouldn’t grow resentful of people she didn’t even know, but this was the second time the same _Claude_ had been brought up over and over again.

Hilda chokes on her drink for several seconds, droplets flying everywhere. When she gets herself under control, she asks, “ _What_?”

The shade of the trees makes it hard to tell if she’s red from inhaling the coconut water, or if she’s blushing. Another thing that had changed was that Edelgard had given her a few of her simple white dresses to wear, as Hilda’s clothes had been ruined from the fight against the demonic beast. Such an outfit made the flush on her neck all the more obvious.

“You and von Riegan’s grandson,” Edelgard says impatiently, “You talk about him like he drives the chariot of the sun. I’m curious.”

 _And jealous_.

“Uh. I mean.” She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and Edelgard tries not to stare at the perfect bow of her lips, “I did tell him he better marry me if I was still single by the time I was thirty, but… other than that, _no_? Like. Don’t get me wrong,” Hilda gets a thoughtful look on her face, like she’s being asked a complicated question in class, “he’s dreamy. Smartest man I know. Definitely husband material, _and_ we’d make a hot couple, but… I don’t know. We’re just… best buds. I don’t think a romance between us is in the cards right now.” Hilda’s shoulders relax, and she picks at the frayed fiber on her coconut, “Maybe one day, though?”

Pleased with her own answer, Hilda raises an eyebrow, as if to prompt Edelgard to explain what brought this on, but she remains silent. She didn’t know if emotional availability made this any better or worse.

It mostly made her feel helpless.

*** * ***

Several days later, when Edelgard can’t rebuff Linhardt’s incessant requests any longer, she nudges Hilda awake from a nap. The Goneril heir was her opposite, even when it came to sleeping– sprawled out, limbs taking up space, while Edelgard tended to curl herself into a tight ball, almost like cat. 

“Hey, Hilda? Are you… awake?” Edelgard says, coming off more awkward than intended. Somewhere to her left, Hubert makes a low wheezing sound, one that she’d long ago recognized as him laughing. Her glare effectively shoos him away as the pink-haired girl begins to stir.

Hilda’s voice comes to before her other senses do, and she sounds groggy, “’M’up now.”

“Lin says you should soak in the spring,” Edelgard tells her.

Hilda blinks sleepily up at her, “Uh… any particular reason?”

“It has healing properties,” Edelgard says. “You’re probably fine, from the faith magic and the ambrosia, but he’s… meticulous. That axe throw did a lot of damage.”

Once upon a time, Edelgard had been the nagging “mom friend” to Linhardt, constantly hounding him. However, the roles sure had been reversed after her failed coup and their years of imprisonment together. The previously uncaring young man gave several shits _now_.

“Huh, you know what? That may actually be kinda nice. I’m tired of swimming in salt water,” Hilda slowly clambers to her feet and tilts her head in the direction of the door, “Wanna come with?”

Edelgard hesitates, and Hilda’s easy smile falters. She wasn’t trying to be rude, or snobby. The spring wasn’t _that_ deep, or so she’d been told. It was possible she could stand on it, but the thought of having water up to her neck was terrifying. She had only ever confided one of her greatest fears to Bernadetta, long ago, yet she feels compelled to let Hilda in as well. Edelgard’s voice is small when she confesses, “I can’t swim.”

Something flickers across Hilda’s eyes, and she can only assume she’s considering teasing her about it. But she doesn’t. Instead, she huffs, “And they put you on an island, surrounded by water? Ugh. What _assholes_ ,” she then clicks her tongue, and in the same sympathetic tone, continues, “ _Weeell_. You can just stay on land. It’ll be a quick dip, promise. I’m… scared about more demonic beasts showing up, you know?”

It was a valid concern, but even so her instincts warn her that it’s a _bad_ _idea_. There had been a… _weird_ mood surrounding them recently. The underlying tension felt like it was boiling over, and Edelgard’s thoughts had lately been consumed by a constant shade of pink that she couldn’t quite shake off, no matter how hard she tried.

She accepts.

*** * ***

The afternoon is quite warm, and the crystalline water looks _heavenly_. Edelgard sits on the banks, and longing consumes her as Hilda swims short laps around the pool of fresh, cold water. The weather was magically-controlled, as far as she was aware, and whoever was in charge of it was seriously overdoing it with the heat.

“You look hot!” Hilda calls, and before Edelgard can look for any double meaning behind her words, she gets splashed by a smirking pink menace, who quickly dives away before she can get any rocks thrown her way.

The droplets do little to soothe her hot skin, and the few that do land feel wonderful, and so she secretly wishes the playful splash had been bigger. Edelgard aims a well-placed scowl her way, and Hilda’s delighted laugh is like windchimes.

The Alliance noble stands, and the water reaches her just below the collarbone. Edelgard is ever so slightly taller than her, a fact she often reminded Hilda about, so the risk of drowning didn’t seem… as daunting as swimming in the ocean may be. No riptides could wash her away, here.

Something in her face prompts Hilda to offer a dazzling smile, “You look like you want to cool off, Edelgard. How about it? The water’s _perfect_.”

Edelgard hugs her knees closer to her chest, “I already told you, I can’t swim.”

“ _Psh_ , you don’t even have to. You can just walk,” Hilda says, and bounces on her heels, as if to prove the lack of depth of the water. At Edelgard’s dubious look, she adds, “I’ll carry you? Keep you above the water? If we begin to drown, by all means, feel free to use me as a footstool to save yourself. Deal?”

The comment drags a smile out of Edelgard, and she honest-to-gods doesn’t know _why_ , but she’s so stupidly whipped, that she crawls on all fours towards the water. Hilda had opted to swim in her underclothes, and Edelgard felt nowhere near as bold, so a wet dress wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Hubert would peck her senseless (or, try to?) if he were here, seeing her be so reckless, jeopardizing her well-being like this, but thankfully, he is nowhere to be found. Today, he was more bird than faithful retainer, and she also did not sense Linhardt to be anywhere nearby. It couldn’t possibly hurt to indulge, just this once.

The pool is literally a hole in the ground, kind of like an overgrown well, unnatural as the rest of the island, with no sloping floor that could gradually let her in. So when Hilda turns, offering her muscular back, Edelgard feels apprehension squeeze her lungs as she slides down to quickly cross her arms over the other girl’s neck. The pressure leaves her ribcage, and relief floods her instead, in tandem with the fresh water cooling her immediately.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to teach you–” Hilda begins, and after a firm shake of Edelgard’s head, she relents, “Okay, okay. Piggyback ride it is. Hold tight.” 

As promised, she begins a gentle swimming stroke around the modest body of water. Edelgard feels vaguely embarrassed about how pathetic her situation must seem to an outsider, but the gesture still means a lot, and Hilda didn’t give her shit for it. She’d watched various others, including Petra, swim around in these very waters, but she’d never had the courage to actually join in.

She can’t exactly explain to anyone _what_ had compelled her to go in this time, why it was different with Hilda. Edelgard’s slow to pinpoint it but, eventually, it seems obvious: she trusts Hilda. She doesn’t have a lot of reasons to, really, it’s more of a gut feeling. Her intense attraction was probably partly responsible, but she _does_ feel safe. The footstool comment may have been in jest, but she feels strongly about the fact that Hilda wouldn’t just let her drown.

Edelgard is all too content letting Hilda ferry her around, and she loses track of time. The other girl’s stamina is impressive, and she completes several laps before she starts to run out of steam. They don’t say anything besides occasional humming, but eventually there seems to be a mutual understanding that it’s been enough. Hilda gives her a boost and helps her get out, making sure she’s held the whole time and never at the mercy of the water, and she’s grateful for it.

Her dress clings to her skin and makes it see-through, and since she can’t very well immediately correct it, Edelgard just lays on her back on the mossy ground and lets the warm air get it dry for her. The canopy of trees above perfectly shades the spring and its surroundings, with just a few rays of sun filtering through, and Linhardt would probably say that it’s the perfect spot for a nap. For once, Edelgard would agree.

Right behind her, Hilda shimmies on her own dress and plops down beside her, panting at the partly obscured sky, “I’m seriously doubting these _healing properties_ of the water that your friend seems to think exist. I’m exhausted.”

“Perhaps your healing was already complete,” Edelgard says.

Hilda sighs, and folds her hands over her stomach, eyes fluttering closed. Another thing she notes is that the other girl has done her hair in pigtails, a look Edelgard hadn’t seen on her before. It was usually high ponytails, but she looks great in both. She thinks she’s drifted off when suddenly Hilda speaks again, “I think he just wanted us out of his hair for a bit.”

Although clearly an expression, and not at all intended as a jab, Edelgard feels a pang of sadness. Sometimes she had a hard time remembering Lin’s long, luscious hair, always carefully pinned away from his face. It was horrible to admit, but some days, she struggled to remember her friend’s faces, her Black Eagles.

It was a consequence of the passage of time, of not having anything but her imperfect memory to remember them by, and she expects this terrible feeling of _loss_ to be part of Rhea’s grand overall plan to make her as unhappy as possible. Nowadays, she could only keep them alive through her charcoal portraits.

Hilda opens one eye, spies Edelgard through her lashes. The air is suddenly heavy between them, and Edelgard didn’t mean to spiral or get upset over such an innocuous comment, but she’s feeling a little sensitive. Hilda’s eyes fully open, and she cautiously rolls to lay on her side, then proceeds to pin Edelgard with a _look_ that makes her freeze.

She can’t help but shiver in place as anticipation sets in, as something electric and undeniable is charged in the air between them.

When Hilda leans forward to close the short distance between them, Edelgard lets her. She feels her eyes slide shut of their own accord as Hilda’s warm lips press against her own, soft and caressing. It’s so achingly sweet that Edelgard can’t help but hum against her.

Hilda knows what she’s doing. She’s experienced, but clearly holding back, and she keeps it entirely chaste, despite how pliant Edelgard is behaving under her mouth.

Edelgard loses herself for a moment, and feels slightly disoriented when Hilda breaks off the kiss to level her with a soft, hesitant look, even rolling over to leave a wider gap between them.

There must be a question, written plain as day on Edelgard’s face, because Hilda offers as way of explanation, “You looked sad.”

“And you would prey on that?” Edelgard whispers, feeling vulnerable, her eyes searching for any sign of mockery or cruelty, but there is no trace of any of that on the pink-haired girl’s entire being. Her lips still tingle.

“I used to smooch my friends when they were sad,” Hilda props her head up by her elbow, her body lazily splayed sideways, and she repeats it. “You look sad.”

Edelgard is surprised to perceive no malice in her words, as it is but a mere observation. It was just a statement of fact; one she was used to, one she didn’t – _couldn’t_ – take offense with. _The sad girl_. A couple of others had pointed it out to her as well, inside and outside the island. It was slightly aggravating that she hadn’t even disclosed the full extent of her curse or her childhood, and Hilda could just _tell_.

Hilda licks her lips, her brow suddenly creasing, “Sorry. I… should have asked. I won’t do it again.”

While the sensible part of her brain is perfectly glad for those words, the overwhelming majority boos and hisses, lets Edelgard know that _I won’t do it again_ is not a sentence she was willing to accept. The adrenaline that courses through her veins right now is greater than the one that had compelled her into accepting the dip in the spring, and it fuels her next words.

“Ask me, then,” Edelgard breathes out, and she greatly enjoys the way the corner of Hilda’s mouth ticks up into a crooked smile, “I won’t say no. Probably.”

“Mm, if you’re going to be annoying about it…” Hilda inches closer, with an enticing tilt to her head, “I don’t think I will. Ask, I mean.”

Whatever witty retort she was about to utter gets caught in her throat as she’s being thoroughly kissed again, more fervently than before. Edelgard is so touch-starved, _so eager_ , she offers no resistance when Hilda pushes her into her back and throws a leg over her body to effectively pin her down.

Calloused fingers close around her chin to bring her closer still, and the touch stops being tentative as Edelgard’s lips part to deepen the kiss. Hilda accepts the wordless invitation and suddenly her tongue is delving into the heat of Edelgard’s mouth, and she feels a surging tide of warmth that leaves her dizzy.

At one point she tries to flip their positions, but her attempt is quickly thwarted by Hilda pressing down on her body more firmly, and she feels her laugh against her mouth. The Goneril girl pulls back just enough to smirk down at her, “If you wanted to top, then _you_ should have made the first move.”

Her face flushes scarlet, and Edelgard makes a soft noise of indignation, as she can’t form a more cogent answer, not when Hilda’s hand frames her jaw like that. Hilda’s grin turns wolfish as she adds, “Next time, take some initiative, babe.”

“ _Next time_?” Edelgard asks, struggling to summon the last scraps of her dignity. Her bluff is quickly called out when Hilda leans even further back and withdraws all contact on her face, but continues to straddle her midsection.

“Hm? Nonchalance, _really_?” Hilda drawls, and she hates how much she’s into the cockiness in her tone. “You want to continue with the unresolved tension?” she makes a show of rolling her shoulders and popping the bones there, then lets out a sigh, “I thought you were the practical kind, Edelgard. If you want, _I guess_ we can just go back to not acknowledging–”

“Oh, _shut up_ ,” the Adrestian growls, and Hilda lets out a yelp as Edelgard grabs her by the front of the dress and pulls her back down, flush against her. Hilda’s arms jerk forward to break her fall, and her hands land on either side of Edelgard’s head, bracketing her in. A competitive spark kindles to life in her chest as she decides to follow Hilda’s advice about _initiative_.

She takes advantage of Hilda’s gaping mouth to pull her into a sloppy, messy kiss, far more obscene than the ones before it, and Hilda moans into her mouth. Edelgard swallows down the sound, and despite being under the other girl, she deliberately keeps Hilda off-balance by maintaining the fabric of her dress bunched up between them and using the leverage as well as gravity to manhandle the Alliance noble as she pleased. Hilda’s muffled, appreciative noises let her know she doesn’t mind, and it only spurs Edelgard on.

The part of her that’s not busy enjoying herself, plants the seed of doubt in the back of her mind about _just_ how much of this was her idea alone, and how much was the curse doing what it did best. Because, objectively speaking, this was _nice_. Better than nice, even, but it was the inherent irresistibleness of it that troubles her, that made her question it all.

Regardless, she does not stop this, and with Hilda’s comfortable weight atop her, it’s like she seals her own fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- ahh we're halfway done! 5 chapters to go. ik the buildup was kinda slow but the next few chapters... Sure Are Something. i know it's kinda a strange concept, even moreso for a rarepair, but i'm glad this AU is being well-received so far!  
> ....also, i'm back in animal crossing hell but updates should remain frequent!


	7. seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edelgard doesn’t need Rhea to torment her when she can do that to herself by means of her own thoughts. Starting with, but not limited to: overthinking her tryst with Hilda.

**7**

Edelgard’s overthinking keeps her wide awake for most of the night.

Despite what most of her body had demanded of her, she had not allowed for the heavy make-out episode with Hilda by the spring to escalate into anything more. She had half expected Hilda to respond with frustration and guilt-tripping, as her guests often did when they were denied, but the other girl had been quick to agree.

Afterwards, Hilda had acted sort of… withdrawn, even _timid_ , very unlike the boisterous and bubbly personality she had come to know. The change had only fried Edelgard’s nerves further, as she wished more than ever to be able to read her mind, and the walk back to the house was short of unbearable. 

Their shared meal afterwards wasn’t filled with Hilda’s usual chatter, and even though both seemed to _want_ to talk about it, nobody took the plunge. The awkwardness was shattered and Edelgard was put somewhat at ease when Hilda flat-out asked if they could just share the bed for that night. The cot they rotated wasn’t much better than sleeping on a slab of concrete, and after getting acquaintanced with Hilda’s mouth on hers for the better part of the evening, it wasn’t an outrageous thing to request.

And that’s how Edelgard ended up staring at the ceiling well into the early morning, with Hilda’s comforting presence beside her, torturing herself with her own thoughts.

She wanted to think that, at the very least, the attraction was real, as it seemed reciprocal, and Hilda had clearly initiated everything of her own volition. The thought alone was enormously comforting, but Edelgard was loathe to get her hopes up any more than she already had.

Others before her had attempted to quickly seduce Edelgard to fast-track the raft to showing up, but Hilda had no way of knowing any of _that_. A part of her is itching to go check if the raft had showed up. Of course, _kissing_ someone did not mean you _loved them_ by any means. But the surge of warmth she felt the last few days when she saw Hilda crafting was hard to ignore, when she smiled and her eyes crinkled just right… yes, it was increasingly hard to fight against the pleasant heat that filled Edelgard’s belly whenever the other girl talked about her passions… maybe the raft had been there for _days_ without either of them realizing.

She is hyperaware of Hilda snoring softly beside her, out like a light. She’d snuggled against Edelgard’s body for a good portion of the night, and the easy pull between them had indeed lulled her into a brief, stolen rest. For some reason, sleeping next to another tended to keep her nightmares at bay, always had.

But she was _nervous_ , and worst of all, there was a… a _hunger_ in her. She lamented putting a stop to what had transpired in the spring, and all Edelgard could think about was getting Hilda’s hands on her again. She thought about what Hilda said, about her taking _initiative_ , and the urge to act on those feelings is almost shameful. Edelgard wants to, she really, really does… or _does she_? In reality, it could very well be nothing more than a whim from her curse.

It’s still early, but eventually, when she can’t tolerate being alone with her thoughts any longer, Edelgard slips out of bed and manages to sneak away to the dock to check once and for all. It’s a short walk, and the crisp morning air helps clear her head somewhat. Not even Hubert’s bird friends are up at this hour.

…

Nothing.

She doesn’t know whether to feel disappointed, glad, or just _stupid_. The cerulean sea, mute and treacherous as ever, reveals nothing, much like her own heart. The spot where the raft tended to show up without fail is glaringly empty, and it’s secretly a relief, as she may get to enjoy this new… dynamic, between herself and the Leicester girl. The shift between the two women could only spell the impending doom of it all, of yet another heartbreak, but it did not stop Edelgard from feeling somewhat giddy about the events from the previous day. 

Edelgard hurries back to the house, and thankfully, everything is exactly as she’d left it, pink guest included. She pauses at the doorway, admiring the view. Hilda’s wrapped up in the sheets, and her sun-kissed skin from weeks on the island made for a stark contrast against the linen. Upon being killed, the Nemean lion’s pelt turned into a spoil of war, and instead of using it as invincible armor, Hilda had repurposed it into a bedspread, and it was surprisingly snug. Edelgard manages to expertly insert herself exactly where she’d been before her little morning excursion, and she forces herself to relax, which kind of defeats the purpose of relaxation in the first place, but _whatever_.

It’s almost noon when Hilda finally begins to stir beside her.

Edelgard is reluctant to fully wake her, anxious about what the other girl might say or do. Also. The overall setup was incredibly comfortable, cocooned up as they were, and she wishes she could make it last _more_. Edelgard feels her own heartbeat thrum steadily in her ear, loud and alert.

Hilda rolls over to face her, and an arm of hers shoots out to lazily place around Edelgard’s middle, and she pulls herself close. A hundred different scenarios play out in the back of the Adrestian’s mind, most of them flat-out irrational, with others teetering between mockery and ridicule.

Edelgard’s heart is racing nearly out of her chest when Hilda blinks at her, languid and confused, before she _finally_ speaks.

“Why’re you so _warm_? You’re, like, a tiny furnace.”

 _Ah_.

She releases a slow breath, that comment definitely _not_ being what she was dreading, and replies, “I believe it’s because of the Crest of Flames.”

Hilda makes a face, but her arm tightens around Edelgard’s waist and she buries her nose in silver hair. To her own surprise, her body doesn’t immediately tense at the tender gesture, but instead melts into it.

She stays like that, flat on her back, for a while, and the angle allows her to appreciate Hilda’s profile out of her peripherical. With her eyes Edelgard traces the gentle slope of Hilda’s nose and line of her profile, and she marvels at the way she looks completely unbothered by anything, really.

Hilda’s voice startles her.

“I can feel you staring, you know,” Hilda says, eyes still closed, “you’re overthinking…” and she yawns against her skin, voice still heavy with sleep, “just be chill. Can you do that? Am I asking for the impossible, here?”

Edelgard huffs, as she feels unable to _just chill_ , and it’s somewhat mortifying that Hilda caught her looking even if her eyes weren’t open. The Alliance noble nuzzles her neck, and murmurs against it, “Or do you need some help to relax?”

The husky tenor of her voice is much too tempting, and trying to pretend she still has some semblance of self-control, Edelgard squirms out of Hilda’s grasp until her bare feet meet the floor. “I–I’m making lunch,” she says, lamely, as she goes to stand by the door.

“Okay,” Hilda’s eyes drift open, _finally_. She twists around to lay on her tummy and she props her head on both hands, crossing her legs behind her head, a pleased little smile Edelgard _does not_ trust gracing her lips. “Seriously, though. No need to be so… apprehensive. If you’re not comfortable, what happened can just be a one-time-thing.” 

“I’m not _apprehensive_ ,” Edelgard puffs out her cheeks in a very unbecoming display, and she runs her tongue along her front teeth, thinking on what to add. Hilda tilts her head, patiently waiting for whatever it is she’s going to settle on saying, but the Adrestian decides against it entirely. She’ll just show her.

Something comes over Edelgard, and she surges forward to press a kiss against Hilda’s lips, intent to cut through the tension. Maybe also to cement that what happened last night had been _real_. Maybe, also, to assert her appreciation, and her desire for a repeat. Hilda welcomes the contact with parted lips, and deepens it by pulling Edelgard by the straps of the chemise she went to bed in.

She’s about to pull back when Hilda’s mouth chases after hers, and the Goneril girl maneuvers herself into an upright position, and Edelgard’s knees land on the mattress, so they are on a somewhat equal plane. Hilda slides her hand under them to frame her jaw, with her thumb stroking idle circles against Edelgard’s skin.

It’s distracting, _it’s so distracting_ , and Edelgard tries not to get lost in it as she manages to string a sentence together, “It’s-it’s almost noon. We… um, should really get the day started.” Edelgard pulls her head back just enough to try to get her breathing under control, to stop herself from panting and _wanting_ , lest Hilda make fun of her for being so eager.

“Mm… yeah, we should,” Hilda agrees, nods her head very seriously, but even as she says this, she’s tugging Edelgard closer, and she feels Hilda’s splayed fingers dig into the small of her back to hold her near. Her eyes remain trained on Edelgard’s lips even as she asks, “What did you have in mind?” 

“I was thinking, for lunch, fruit and bullfrogs?”

The Goneril girl fake-gags when the amphibian is mentioned, but she knows Hilda’s palette standards had been significantly lowered for a while now. Edelgard’s pickiness had also been washed away by the years, and she could eat anything remotely edible now. She still vehemently refused to eat _rats_ , let alone bring herself to kill them, so thank the stars Hubert was around to deal with them whenever the vermin showed their nasty little faces.

Hilda’s eyes snap up, and her nose wrinkles in disgust, “Ew, that’s… that’s kind of a mood killer. They’re so _slimy_ , and they keep moving long after they’re dead.” She folds her legs under herself and Edelgard slides off the bed, finally putting some distance between them, even if part of her _really_ does not want to.

“If you don’t think about it too hard, they kind of taste like chicken,” Edelgard says. Back when she was a princess, she’d never been the biggest fan of poultry, far preferring sweets or veggies for her meals, but now she quite literally could not be a chooser. Bullfrogs weren’t the worst thing she’d been forced to eat during her imprisonment here.

From the irked look on her face, Hilda still doesn’t look convinced, “Maybe I’ll go catch something… not as gross?”

Now _that_ offer let her know Hilda was in an exceptionally good mood. She _very rarely_ offered to hunt, fish or gather since their communal arrangement. Byleth had left behind their fishing equipment (handmade rods, nets, spears, you name it) and mostly against her will, it was Hilda who used them. As far as the heroes who landed on her island went, Hilda was no Petra or Byleth when it came to procuring sustenance, but despite her reluctance, she often did a remarkable job, and they never went hungry. Hilda seemed naturally good at many things, but the lack of effort and absence of interest on the Goneril girl’s part often drove Edelgard a little crazy.

“Too good for my frogs, are you?” Edelgard teases, and Hilda’s eyes go wide for a second, afraid she’d caused offense, but she quickly realizes that it’s meant in jest and a grin replaces the startled look.

“Frogs are a delicacy! I love frogs,” Hilda lies with an easy smile and an equally playful wink, using the honeyed tone Edelgard expected the other girl used to wheedle favors out of classmates. “But _wouldn’t you rather_ have a nice Teutates snapper feast? Throw some tasty herring in there?”

Oh, she was _good_. Not that Edelgard needed much convincing. She’d only suggested those critters because they still had some meat leftover, and if Linhardt’s weakened Fimbulvetr spell was any good, they should still be fresh and make for an easy meal.

“That sounds lovely. But catching and filleting fish takes a while, let alone cooking them,” Edelgard says. She had had to learn to cook in order to survive this ordeal, but before being forced to live like this, her cooking skills were a bit underdeveloped. Some days she still wished she could just use an axe or a sword to make it go a lot quicker. “And energy is necessary for the body to properly function, so…”

Abated by logic, Hilda sighs. “Welp. You got me there. I _guess_ frog pancakes it is.”

Now it’s Edelgard’s turn to make a face, for _who in this realm_ would be depraved enough to eat something like that. Hilda’s shit-eating grin lets her know that now it was _her_ who was joking, and the imperial noble rolls her eyes.

Thankfully the banter remained much the same, with only the added change that _now_ Edelgard felt she had permission to openly admire Hilda’s gorgeous assets. The feeling seemed mutual, for she caught Hilda doing much the same to her. It was _nice_ to feel wanted again. There was a comfortable sort of tension simmering between them, nowhere near satisfied by the brief exchange minutes before, but Edelgard was happy to resolve it at a later time.

“We’ll have a feast tonight,” Hilda jumps to her feet, way more energetic than Edelgard would have expected her to be. “I hope you like two-fish sautee with some creative liberties. Lack of ingredients, you know.”

“Yes, I sometimes had it at the monastery. It was Hubert’s favorite,” Edelgard says, and she wonders where her faithful retainer might be this morning. Perhaps he was preoccupied about her seemingly succumbing to her curse; it wouldn’t be the first time he got distant after the fact. Hilda’s in _such_ a good mood, she doesn’t even look irritated that she has something in common with her apparent bird-nemesis.

“Alright! Quick breakfast and then I guess I better get fishing.” Hilda hesitates for maybe three seconds before landing a firm peck to her cheek, and with that newfound energy, she bounds out the door.

Edelgard feels a wave of warmth flood her chest.

Hubert’s concerns might as well be her own.

* * *

Hilda’s island version of ‘two-fish sautee’ has _nothing_ in common with the popular Enbarr dish save the name, for even the fish are different, and they don’t have the main ingredient: namely, butter.

Much later, as the sun dips and the living space is washed over by pretty orange light, Hubert cranes his head up and gobbles down a fish whole. The feathery asshole makes a whole show of working it down his throat and choking loudly and obscenely when he’s done. If his bird anatomy allowed it, he would probably be slurping. The noises are certainly off-putting, and Edelgard knows he’s doing it as a dig at Hilda.

It works.

“Oh, the food critic has spoken,” Hilda drawls, pushing the flaky meat around on her plate with a fork before pointing an accusatory end towards him, “It’s two-fish sautee _on a budget_ , Hu-bird. _Sorry_ it’s not up to your standards!”

Her retainer cackles, shrill and unpleasant, before diving out the window in a blur of black. Although she usually really felt his absences, right now, they weren’t necessarily in the best of terms. It had taken him but _one_ judgment-filled look to gauge that something was blossoming between her and the Goneril girl, and he’d made his displeasure known with a petty stunt like that. 

“Lamine sometimes takes pity and brings butter,” Edelgard changes the subject, recalling the minor goddess and her visits… she was one of the few gods that didn’t _absolutely_ hate her guts, as she was Jeritza’s distant relative, “but our immortal rulers rarely visit when there’s… other guests around.”

Hila is still glaring at the window, where Hubert made his escape, but she cocks an eyebrow in her direction, “Has dear old Goneril ever visited?”

“Yes,” Edelgard says, and she can almost picture the brawny, pink-haired god with the crooked smile and the quick laugh in her mind’s eye. He wasn’t particularly helpful or sympathetic to her cause, but he was one of the few that still held a soft spot for humanity. The tomahawk she had tossed at the Nemean lion had been a gift from him. “Hm, now that you mention it… you resemble him.”

Hilda’s glare morphs into a bemused smile that she directs at her, “Yeah! His genes are stupid strong. My brother Holst looks more like him than he does our father, if you can believe it. Actually… _you_ reminded me of an immortal when we first met.”

“I see,” Edelgard frowns. Hresvelgs had stopped bearing Rhea’s likeness for a while now, and thankfully, in her case, the last of her looks had been overpowered by the Arundel family’s stronger features. The only thing she still had in common with the archbishop may be the venomous glare that made people cower when said look was aimed at them. “I look nothing like Seiros.”

“Err, I didn’t _exactly_ mean Seiros,” Hilda coughs into her fist, and Edelgard watches as a pretty pink blush spreads across the bridge of her nose. She tries to appear busy by shoveling in the last of her fish, but her comment has garnered Edelgard’s undivided attention.

“Oh? Do tell,” Edelgard’s own plate is cleared, and she’s been chewing on mint leaves to get the taste out. Since the other girl went for seconds, she has nothing better to do than reach out and poke the Goneril girl on the ribs, and in return, she’s almost stabbed with a fork.

Hilda swallows down the last of her meal and makes a run for it, reaches the windowsill where she grabs her own minty leaves to chew on. She lets the sullen silence stew for a bit before taking her sweet time to follow after Hilda, who is growing more flustered by the minute.

There’s a playfulness to Edelgard’s eyes when she asks again, “Who did I remind you of?”

“Why’re you so _nosy_?” Hilda’s sentence is more whine than actual question. “If I mistakenly think you look like a mythological being, that’s _my_ business. That’s on _me_.”

Edelgard has an inkling of sorts of what Hilda might be talking about, as her reaction is similar to when Petra confused her with the Flame Spirit from her native Brigid upon their first meeting. That comparison had been _extremely_ flattering, to say the least.

She doesn’t ask again, but she does invade Hilda’s personal space until the small of her back hits the wall and the other girl curses softly. Her minuscule height advantage is enough to properly corner the Golden Deer, and Edelgard enjoys it while she can. She levels her with an intense look and cups Hilda’s chin in her hand, and her eyes bore into wide, panicked ones.

She lets her gaze do the talking for her, lets its demand be clear: _Who?_

Hilda cracks.

“A goddess!” Hilda mewls, bats Edelgard’s hand away. The smile that splits Edelgard’s face must borderline on sheer hubris, because the other girl’s face turns bright red. “N-no, actually, I take that back. I thought you were a nymph. A really _mean_ , bad-tempered nymph!”

It’s too late. Edelgard’s ego is through the fucking roof. She tilts her head, “A goddess, you said?”

The other girl splutters for a few seconds before settling on a weak response, “You are _so_ annoying!”

Hilda’s embarrassment is giving way to a sort of anger, if her furious pout is any indication. The confession is honestly an ego boost she inwardly needed, despite appearing so collected on the outside. Edelgard smirks, about to torment her a little more, but suddenly Hilda claims her mouth with a deep kiss.

She welcomes it eagerly. It’s nowhere near as sweet or refined as the ones they shared under the canopy of the trees, but then again, tensions hadn’t been running as high. Their teeth clash together initially, and Hilda is desperately trying to propel herself forward and away from the wall she’s trapped against, but Edelgard doesn’t let her. 

Instead, she brackets her in, planting one arm beside Hilda’s head while using her free one to wrap around her waist. Hilda quickly gives up in trying to escape, and starts matching Edelgard’s intensity with touches and noises of her own. The feelings from the day before, and the jumbled ones from just this morning skitter in her bloodstream; they combine with the build-up from the very moment they met and every moment thereafter, into a beautiful storm right under her skin. 

Eventually, Edelgard’s brain demands oxygen and she has to angle her head back to fill her lungs anew. Their minty breaths mingle together, and when Hilda’s heated gaze becomes too much to stomach, Edelgard ducks her head down to direct her attention elsewhere.

At long last she decides to indulge Hilda’s perfect cleavage. She brings both hands over to palm her over the dress, and is pleased to feel no underclothes beneath. She tugs the material down, not entirely freeing them, but enough that she can pepper kisses along Hilda’s ample chest and collarbone.

Edelgard can _hear_ Hilda’s smirk rather than see it when she says, “I knew you liked these,” her fingers dig into the back of Edelgard’s head, encouraging her to stay right where she is, “You really weren’t - _ah_ \- subtle, babe.”

The Adrestian feels the tips of her ears flush in mortification, so she doesn’t deign the remark with a response. The worst part was, she’d been called out once before by _Dorothea_ for the exact same thing, only that the Dancer’s comment had been _I always knew you were a tits kind of girl, Edie_.

She liked the way Hilda’s voice pitched in the middle of her sentence, and Edelgard is intent on eliciting the sound again. She redoubles her efforts and finally lowers the garment so it’s out of the way, and Hilda’s breasts are finally bare as the rest of her dress bunches around her waist. Instead of gawking like an idiot, like part of her honestly wants to, Edelgard continues with the languid kisses and lets her hands do the rest of the exploring.

“Th-that’s so good, ah, so good,” Hilda’s fingernails dig harder against her scalp, and the praise curls hot in Edelgard’s stomach. “Remind me again why we -- _oh, gods_ \-- w-why we didn’t do this sooner?”

“Because you insisted on antagonizing me in every possible way, I suppose,” Edelgard stills her movements and happily replies to what might have been a rhetorical question, “but now that I know you think me a _goddess_ , I think I can be forgiving.”

“What can I say,” Hilda says dryly, toying with a strand of Edelgard’s hair that she wraps around her finger, “apparently I’m into warmongers.”

Edelgard tilts her head up, violet eyes narrowing dangerously, “Are you trying to provoke me?”

“Maaaybe,” Hilda’s lips curve, catlike and insufferable, “ _Is it working_?”

“I don’t know,” Edelgard tries to mimic back the same innocuous tone. She brings a knee up and shoves it between Hilda’s legs, making her gasp. “You tell me.”

Hilda’s eyes go wide, and her pupils are completely blown when she breathes out, “ _Bed_?”

Edelgard obliges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...yeah, going w/ a fade to black for this one hahha i already got the E rating stuff out of my system for now,, if you know you know. lolol
> 
> -the next one is... kinda rough, and a moody god is finally making an appearance, sooo i figured this was the appropiate balance for whats to come!!


	8. eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The god Goneril shows up in Ogygia, and he wants to talk about Edelgard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new tags added. i'm not v good at warnings, sooo just know this one has a bit more violence than previous ones

**8**

The gods deign themselves to show Hilda how much they disapprove of her budding relationship by sending fucking _Goneril_ himself to stage an intervention. At least, that’s what it feels like.

He intercepts her as she’s picking obsidian on her way back to the house. The dark, glassy material was fun to craft with, and she wanted to make something for Edelgard, sappy as that was. There wasn’t an active volcano anywhere nearby, so it’s a little strange that so much of this material could be found around the island, but Hilda doesn’t question it. Honestly, she figured it was the result of the alternate version of Seiros throwing a tantrum and spewing fire so hot against the ground it turned it to lava, during a rampage or something?

Anyway. Hilda is just about ready to head back when a familiar, yet gruff voice, startles her so that she drops the materials around her feet. She hadn’t heard a male voice that wasn’t part of a dream or vision in a long, long while.

“Hey, kiddo.”

Hilda spins around and does a double take. For a hot second, she thinks the man grinning at her is _Holst_ , for the coal-black plates of their dark armor match that of a War Master, and the pink hair sticking out of the helmet is a shade she’s quite familiar with, for it’s her own.

But the smile isn’t all that warm, and under the armor he sports a white chiton lined with gold, purple and green. The color scheme of the gods. She feels her mouth go dry.

“G…Goneril?”

His strained smile only widens. It’s kind of unnatural to watch, “Yes! Oh, Hilda, my child. I am so glad I caught you at a private moment.”

 _Without Edelgard, that’s what he’s not saying_ , the part of Hilda’s brain that’s not utterly confused notes. Technically, she _wasn’t_ his direct offspring, but the gods did not seem to make that distinction. If you had their crest, you were family. Her discomfort only grows when the god starts making _small talk_ , asking her how she’s been, if she’s been eating well– all of it red flag after red flag.

Simply put, the gods _don’t care_ about any of that, unless they have an ulterior motive and there’s something in it for them. A god only cares whether you’re eating well if they’re fattening you up for slaughter. They only care about your well-being if they’re thinking about sending you on a difficult quest that they can’t be bothered to do themselves.

Despite answering his questions, he notices her closed-off body language, and he places a meaty palm over his heart, “Is something wrong, Hilda?”

“I don’t know, is there?”

He blinks at her, the godly green of his eyes unsettling her even further. They looked like Byleth’s after their fusion with the primordial goddess. Once upon a time, those eyes had been akin to rose quartz– before being granted immortality, that is. She’d read about it on their family tree, as a record was kept of everyone born into the family, and his original shade at birth had been crossed out and replaced with _this_.

When he replies, it’s not what she expects. Not even close.

“They think us Gonerils are only good for guarding their borders and fighting their wars,” the god’s voice is a low rumble, but the corners of his mouth are raised as if proud, “but we are so much more than that, are we not, child? We are loyal, and we are _perceptive_. Your distrust is not misplaced,” he sighs, “my visit is no social call.”

“You don’t say,” Hilda says, dry as Sreng’s soil. She keeps her eyes glued to his burly frame as the god carefully arranges himself on a fallen palm tree, crossing his ankles and removing his helmet as he does. Sitting down, massive as he is, he’s still only at eye-level with Hilda, which she finds a little annoying.

He gestures for her to take a seat beside him, but she gives a slight shake of her head. Hilda would remain standing for this. With a start, she realizes he’s _stalling_ , that he’s trying to find the words. It takes a few seconds of him running his fingers along the fancy dark plumage of his helmet before he speaks.

“So. Things with Seiros have been kind of turbulent, with everything going on,” he begins, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, she has been distraught _before_ , but this… well,” he’s so awkward, sometimes it’s hard to remember that he’s an all-powerful god, “I figured I should show you something, so you can know what you’re up against. What’s at stake, what the odds are…”

“Mm, okay? But… why didn’t you send a dream? You’ve done it in the past. Why come all this way?” Hilda says, and then hurries to tack on, “Not that… not that I’m against it or anything. I enjoy your visits. It’s always super nice to see you!” she knew how fragile a god’s ego could be. The last thing she needed was to get blown into smithereens because she hurt her ancestor’s feelings.

“Our messages via dreams can be tracked, spied upon… this is the safest way. I don’t… I do not wish for Seiros to catch wind of what I’m about to show you.”

“What’s this about again?”

Goneril hesitates, before murmuring, “The Hresvelg girl.”

He’s wringing his hands, uncharacteristically nervous. Her eyes land on the smoothness of them, the lack of callouses or raised skin. Old portraits at the Goneril estate showed him as a seasoned warrior, with crisscrossing scars and dents that distinguished him as an almighty human force. It was unfortunate that godhood had washed away such things, that immortality had smoothed out his skin and healed away any trace of his humanity, of any imperfection, as if there had been anything wrong with it in the first place.

The only mark on his skin is a large tattoo; a green symbol of the Crest of Goneril adorns one of his massive biceps. Hilda had always thought it looked kind of like a sun, a fun compliment to the half-moon of Riegan, and she used to joke about it with Claude. Her brother Holst was a firm believer that it was an eye– that it represented them being the watchers of the wall. Given the connotations behind _that_ interpretation, Hilda wasn’t really a fan, so in her mind, _sun_ it was.

“Mm. Okay. I don’t understand,” Hilda finally says, “You want to talk about Edelgard, but _not_ about, say, Claude? The one who’s side I’m on? Opposing you guys?”

“I’ve made my peace with that decision of yours,” Goneril’s face is impassive as ever, but there’s a slight sparkle in his eyes. “Even among gods, young Claude’s war is not that unpopular, you know. Not all of us asked for… _this_ ,” he raps his knuckles along the polished material of his armor, “It is… difficult, suffering under what it’s like to be mortal, and now, basking in what it’s like to be a god. The major players, Rhea, Cichol, the like… they simply… they do not understand. That is why I’m neutral. If you succeed, good. If you don’t, it’s all the same to me.”

She can imagine them having a hard time reconciling their former humanity with their new status, but Goneril’s stance pisses her off all the same. All her life Hilda had turned a blind eye to politics, to injustice, even to her family’s role in keeping Fodlan closed off to the world. Hilda had been fully grown before it had finally dawned on her how wrong she’d been, and it still ate at her.

Hilda folds her arms over her chest, “You know, I tried the neutrality stance growing up. It’s not the correct one. Grow a pair, Goneril.”

“It’s not that easy,” Goneril barks a laugh. She’d only said that because she knew he liked someone with a spine. “You should see the tension at feasts, it’s unbearable. That snooty Fraldarius sneers at Alliance gods like she’s sooo much better than us, telling us to control our families. I’ve had to _plead_ with fucking Gloucester countless times so he doesn’t snuff the life out of ol’ Dominic before dessert. It… it gets messy.”

Before she can reply, the god continues, “Can ya blame me? I’m conflicted. On the one hand, I’m one of them, and yet…”

Hilda could at long last relate. She was a noble, a crest-bearer, and yet…

“I’m not here to sway your loyalty to Claude. I think we both know that’s kind of a Sisyphean task,” he offers a sly grin, and then clears his throat uncomfortably when she does not return it, “however… _I am_ here to warn you about Wilhelm’s descendant. The Flame Emperor.”

“Warn me, how?”

His voice takes on a serious tone, and it’s still really disconcerting how much the god resembles Holst when he gets all grave and stern, “A warning of what should happen to you and your friends if you fail.”

The god climbs to his feet, towering over her once again, and it takes Hilda’s entire restraint not to take a step back at the imposing figure that he cuts.

“I’m smelling endgame here, and you need your wits about you, child,” he says, “your little friends have been busy… recruiting, planning, _waiting_. That is all that I am going to say on the matter, but know this: you must not remain here, no matter how tempting the Flame Emperor’s offer. Understand?”

Hilda’s heart leaps to her throat, and she’s so relieved to get an update about her friends, that the last part about Edelgard almost entirely slips her mind. _Offer_? Before she can question this, the beefcake of a god takes a step forward, his hand outstretched as if to grab her.

Hilda flinches back.

His nostrils flare at her rejection, and he balls that same hand into a fist, only letting his outstretched index finger stand between them. If this were a normal situation, she would think he was trying to boop her on the nose. Since it’s not, she thinks he may very well be trying to smite her on the spot.

“I want to show you something.”

“I-I think I’m good.”

Goneril’s mouth is a grim line, “It is not a request.”

Hilda feels paralyzed as a smooth fingertip is pressed against her forehead, and her entire world whites out.

* * *

Hilda’s eyes take some time to adjust to the inky darkness, but before they can, a solid hit against skin sounds across the empty space and rings in her ears for several seconds.

And. And Saint Seiros is there.

The Golden Deer had met her as the Archbishop, a serene woman with an elaborate headdress and seafoam eyes, the perfect picture of poise and grace. They got to know her as the strange woman that took a liking to Byleth for no apparent reason, that entrusted them with missions to further her agenda and safeguard the Church’s dominance in Fodlan. Later, Hilda witnessed her transform into the Immaculate One, a massive dragon that almost crushed them to death at the Holy Tomb.

The enraged woman who stands amid the darkness does not look like the Rhea Hilda once met. This is Seiros, the goddess, and she wears an elegant tunic not unlike Goneril’s, accented by gold armor over white linen. Her minty hair tumbles down her back in a simple braid, and she wears a headpiece that has dragon’s wings on either side. Hilda thought it looked a little silly, but there was no time to dwell on such mundane things when the tall woman was busy beating the shit out of– _out of_ – 

Out of _Edelgard_.

Her white hair is matted and messy, plastered to her face as she pants. It’s from exertion, Hilda realizes, as the sound she immediately heard when the vision slotted into place was of Seiros throwing a punch. Hilda’s gut twists as she realizes Edelgard’s arms are bound behind her back, that this major goddess was beating on someone that was by all means helpless.

No wonder Sothis disapproved.

The ground rocks under Hilda’s wispy feet and she realizes they’re below deck– it’s some sort of ship. The only light filters down between the floorboards above, and it helps her wrap her mind around the gist of the situation. The cell has really nothing in it but a straw floor with a foul smell coming from it. A bucket of brownish water sits in the corner, and Hilda spies a rat floating on it, bloated and long dead.

The goddess rounds on Edelgard again after blowing some air into her knuckles. Hilda desperately tries to haul Seiros back by the shoulders, but her hands go right through her, and she almost falls to the soiled ground. A grim reminder that Hilda is _not really_ here, that this probably happened several years ago, and Goneril is merely showing her the past.

“I am not going to ask you again, heretic.” Seiros’ voice is venomous as she wrenches Edelgard’s chin forward to speak directly into her face, “Your association with the Agarthans was doomed from the start. Refusing to give them up now is not only pointless, but a grave mistake on your part.”

When Edelgard doesn’t reply, Seiros’ nails dig harder into the bruised skin, breaking it, and the young Adrestian winces. “Concealing the location of Shambhala is beyond idiotic. Even now, my knights are hunting them down, ready to slay those dark mages you once called allies. Tell me, _where are they_? _Where are those who killed my mother_?”

All that Edelgard offers in response is a gurgling sound, likely because there’s blood in her mouth, and Seiros scoffs in disgust before removing her hand and letting Edelgard’s head drop. The major goddess springs to her feet and begins to pace, agitated, her fingers curling and uncurling at her sides, perhaps itching to hit the defeated emperor again. It was like watching a caged tiger.

No sooner had she started her pacing that Seiros stops, her back to Edelgard, and her entire frame shakes with rage. She seems to compose herself with a deep breath, but she doesn’t seem any less furious. The goddess rounds on her descendant once more, her eyes ablaze.

“You are a disgrace to all of House Hresvelg. Because of you, I am now forced to erase thousands upon thousands of years of my own flesh and blood from history. It will be as if you never existed,” Seiros hisses, and somehow her lungs still have enough air in them for one last jab, “You have sullied all that Wilhelm ever loved, all that he built. And for what? _And for what_?”

“You did,” Edelgard croaks, spits, and a glob of saliva and blood lands _right_ _near_ the open plane of Seiros’ sandals. Hilda shudders to think what would have become of her if the fluid had landed on the goddess’ bare toes.

“Did _what_?” Seiros snaps.

“You… said you would not ask me again… and yet, you _did_.” Edelgard smiles, her teeth tinged pink, and a trail of blood races down the side of her mouth.

Those eyes like seafoam narrow dangerously, and when the goddess snarls, she reveals a row of wicked sharp teeth, more dragon than human. Seiros’ hand balls into a fist, most likely ready to deliver another punch, and Hilda’s scream falls to deaf ears.

The blow never comes.

Someone clears their throat. Cichol, or as Hilda knew him, _Seteth_ , quickly descends from above, carrying a torch, casting creepy shadows across his face. Rhea’s brother. His face remains emotionless when he says, “It is done. The transformation is about to begin, if… if the prisoner is to watch.”

A brutal smile splits Rhea’s otherworldly face. Her nails sink into the back of Edelgard’s neck, as if picking up a kitten up by the scruff. “Oh, yes. I believe even sinners deserve a front-row seat to witness one final opera.”

*** * ***

As they climb to the surface, with Hilda’s ghost-like presence trailing after them, she immediately recognizes King Dimitri’s tall frame. He’s hunched over a silver spear, and lanky strands of blonde hair fall over the eyepatch where his right eye used to be. When his remaining one lands on Edelgard being dragged out, his hand tightens around the hilt, but he does not leap forward even though he very much looks like he wants to. The disgraced emperor does not even spare him a glance.

Others in a similar uniform crowd around him, and Hilda realizes it’s the Blue Lions from Edelgard’s time, now famed heroes in Hilda’s. Most of them look like they would rather not be anywhere near this, as Dimitri seems to be the only remotely amused one. Hilda sees especially horrified looks from a nun and a freckled boy as they hang near the back, murmuring amongst themselves. Another noteworthy character that she recognizes is a younger version of Professor Annette, the Black magic teacher at Garreg Mach, who looks like she’s going to be sick.

The only other one Hilda can place a name for is the fiery redhead beside the King– it’s the Margrave Gautier, the one Hilda had harbored a small crush on when she saw him depicted in a history book. The whole idea makes her stomach recoil now.

The sky is overcast, the air heavy with the threat of rain, and it was like looking through dull lenses: grey ocean, grey sky, to match the gloomy color of a gray ship… it could even be said the people looked much the same, as most of them wore the pale colors of the Church of Seiros.

Edelgard tries to dig her heels in when she sees the unforgiving ocean surrounding them, crashing and raging against the hull, perhaps thinking she was going to get thrown overboard since she could not swim, but Seiros shoves her forward. Since her hands are tied, she can’t break her fall, and Edelgard lands _hard_ on her knees.

A screech of protest catches Hilda’s attention– she’s the only one to turn towards the source of the sound, of Edelgard’s only defender. With a pang, she realizes it’s _Hubert_ , already in his bird form, smacking his head and body against the compact iron cage he’s been stuffed in. His feathery body is speckled with blood, perhaps from bashing himself against the metal in his desperation to escape. A mage bearing the colors of the Church raises a hand– casting a _Silence_ spell over the bird to muffle the racket, and he goes rigid, frozen in time.

Sylvain steps forward, as if to help the fallen emperor, but Dimitri’s arm shoots out to stop him, “She can crawl.”

A shorter man with inky hair and amber eyes scoffs behind him, and mutters something that sounds akin to _boar_ , but Hilda isn’t sure. Maybe he said _boat_? She’s too busy watching as Edelgard grits her teeth and struggles back to her feet, somehow looking dignified and collected despite the trembling of her limbs. She reluctantly goes to stand where Cichol directs her to, where the entire crew seems to be surrounding exactly nothing.

That changes soon enough.

“And now, behold!” Seiros announces, “Today, we are graced with the finest from the Mittelfrank Opera Company, for one last bewitching song.”

Some of the crowd parts and a couple of knights surge forward, holding a struggling young woman between them. The taller of the two makes Hilda’s blood turn to ice. It is Thunder Catherine, on her prime, with the glowing Thunderbrand resting at her hip. In Hilda’s time, the knight was long retired, and seeing her in this light evaporates the last ounce of respect she had for the legacy of Charon.

Hilda doesn’t recognize their prisoner, but she can deduct from Rhea’s mocking words that maybe she was a songstress. Her puffy face and ratty clothes don’t take away from her beauty, even as they hang loose from her frame… oh, they’re torn Dancer’s clothes. Hilda realizes this is what Goneril intended to show her… _look what happened to the Dancer in Edelgard’s army_ … what would happen to the one in yours, should you fail? What would happen to _Marianne_?

“Dorothea Arnault,” Seteth’s voice is crisp as he reads from a scroll, “You have been found guilty of heresy and treason against the teachings of Seiros, guilty of inciting rebellion, of conspiracy to…”

Hilda tunes him out and focuses on Edelgard. Her violet eyes are wide, and a muscle in her jaw won’t stop twitching where a dark bruise is starting to bloom. She makes as if to step forward, but Seiros’ hands sink into her shoulders, trapping her there. Edelgard is mouthing a silent stream of _no, no, no, no_ as Seteth continues reading the charges off his list.

“… for all of the above, it is the will of the gods that you live out the rest of your days as a creature befitting your perverse nature,” Cichol finishes, and tucks the scroll away. His cool gaze shifts over to the tall blond woman at the center, “Catherine, the potion, if you will.”

Edelgard tries to wrench herself free from Seiros’ grasp by kicking the goddess on the shin, but the towering warrior doesn’t even flinch. All it earns her is a slap to the back of the head and a hand that snakes its way around to wrap around Edelgard’s chin and force it forward to watch. The iron grip digs into the skin and leaves crescent-shaped marks, just as it had under the deck.

Dorothea blinks back tears as her emerald eyes lock on Edelgard’s, “I’m s-sorry, Edie…”

Edelgard starts to hyperventilate, and still Seiros won’t let her avert her gaze.

The other knight forces Dorothea’s head back by tugging at her hair. The potion Seteth mentioned is forced past her lips, and Catherine tips back a crimson liquid that’s still bubbling down the Dancer’s throat. By the way she chokes, Hilda wonders if it’s scalding hot. When all of the contents have been dumped, Catherine claps a hand over Dorothea’s mouth, then with the other pinches her nose shut, to make sure nothing is snorted or spit out. Dorothea thrashes in place for a few seconds before she stills, and her head lolls to the side as her body begins to smoke.

The nameless knight and Catherine step back as Dorothea’s knees buckle and she falls. The poor woman begins to claw at the floorboards until she’s rubbed her fingertips raw, and her scrabbling leaves bloodied trails in her panic. The smoke emanating from her body gets thicker and thicker, until it envelops her in a sort of cloud. Hilda hears one of Dimitri’s friends gag behind them, maybe more than one, but she can’t tear her eyes away.

Nobody can.

When the smoke clears, the gruesome results are revealed. All healthy color has been drained from the songstress’ skin, changing it to a chalky white. Her lovely brown locks have been replaced with slimy algae, such a dark green that it’s almost black, as if rotten. For a second, Hilda thinks they turned her into some sort of harpy, as a dirty black plumage overtakes most of her body. It quickly dawns on her that this is _not_ the case, for the clawed feet and human head do not fit the bill. She _does_ resemble a harpy, but her body seems made for swimming instead of flying.

A heavy silence settles over the audience– mostly the horrified kind. The only sounds that don’t belong to the sea come from Edelgard’s quiet sobs, which she’s suppressing with chilling practice. This must not be the first time she watched someone she loved be decimated before her eyes, and it’s heartbreaking to watch.

“A siren!” Rhea finally announces when Dorothea’s body stops twitching, “Join your new sisters, and repent forevermore.”

Hilda briefly wonders what she means by _sisters_ , but her question is swiftly answered when she spots a gaggle of creatures, identical to Dorothea, lounging in the outcrop of a rock, out on the churning sea. Their mouths are moving, it looks like they’re screaming, but if those are actual _sirens_ , then they were probably singing. Trying to lure unsuspecting sailors to their deaths. The Silence spell cast on Hubert must have been extended to them while Hilda’s vision had kept her below deck.

Dorothea raises her head, and no recognition flashes across her eyes as they land on Edelgard. Her mouth opens into a guttural shriek. A wave of panic envelops everyone on board, even Hilda, who is objectively unaffected by the sound. As the mage from before scrambles to cast another Silence, Catherine’s body jerks into action and she manages to haul the opera singer overboard, as if she were tossing a sack of potatoes. An anticlimactic _splash_ is the last Hilda hears from Dorothea Arnault.

People have to be hauled back and fingers have to be snapped under noses, as more than one person had been preparing to jump and earn themselves an untimely death by man-eating sirens. The only ones unaffected seemed to be the actual gods aboard, for a tiny smile graces the archbishop’s face, and it makes Hilda’s blood boil.

Edelgard’s head dips down to her chest, her eyes shut, and Hilda can see: she’s nearing her breaking point. Every single nerve ending on her body is urging Hilda to hug her, to provide what comfort she can, but it would be but an empty gesture. _This happened several decades ago_ , she has to remind herself.

“Well, Edelgard. There you have it,” Seiros spins her prisoner around, lowers herself so they’re face-to-face. Despite being surrounded by others, it genuinely feels like it’s just the two, a goddess and her estranged demigod. “I do believe that is the last member of your absurd Strike Force.”

Obviously, Hilda cannot read Edelgard’s mind, but a million things seem to ripple across her features. Anger, pain, vengeance, grief… and she watches as that cold, unreadable mask slips into place, the one that had welcomed Hilda to the island so many moons ago.

“I do not know where Shambhala is,” Edelgard’s tone is calm, but her gaze could wilt flowers, “but if I did, I would not tell the likes of you.”

The pupils in Seiros’ eyes briefly shift to reptilian slits, but the image is gone just as quickly. She straightens up and places a hand at Edelgard’s back, “Ornery as ever, I see. Let us return below, shall we? You may be persuaded yet.”

“Why don’t you just kill me? Save someone the chore of mopping up my blood, for once.” Edelgard sounds tired when she says it, and her shoulders stiffen at the prospect of being led back down into that dark cellar from before.

“Kill you? _Hah_! As if you were deserving of eternal rest. No, no. Your torment has just begun,” Rhea’s voice at the end is but a purr, and Hilda’s body jerks with revulsion. This was among the most horrible visions her well-meaning ancestor had ever sent her. Seiros leans into Edelgard’s ear to murmur, “There are fates worse than death, wicked girl.”

Seiros raises her elegant neck once more, and her instructions are directed at her brother.

“Seteth. Set the course to Ogygia. There shall be no salvation for those that would knowingly stray from the light of the gods, and smile while they do it.”

Goneril’s advice from before overlaps with Seiros’ last words, _A warning of what should happen to you and your friends if you fail._

* * *

Hilda wakes to a mouthful of sand and a splitting headache. Somehow, she ended up sprawled against the palm tree where her ancestor previously took a seat. She can tell it’s been at least a couple of hours, since the sun is dipping over the horizon, washing her in orange light.

Goneril is gone.

When Edelgard had implied her collaborators had been “punished”, Hilda had figured they were banished to islands of their own, not… not what had happened to Dorothea Arnault. Hilda shuddered to think what befell the rest of them.

She grabs what obsidian she can carry and hurries back to the house before it gets too dark. It’s mostly muscle memory that gets her there, for she’s still too rattled by the vision to put much thought behind her actions. When she arrives, Hilda’s racing thoughts are put at ease when she spots Edelgard, healthy and peaceful, just existing.

“Hello,” Edelgard’s lavender eyes lift from where she had been inspecting something on the loom. The small smile she gives Hilda makes her heart swell. “You were gone a while. Did you find the materials you– _oof_ ,” the breath is knocked out of her as Hilda tackles her into a hug, the bone-crushing kind. Raphael would wholeheartedly approve.

 _Gods_ , Hilda can’t even begin to reply. Edelgard was a miracle of moving parts, and as Hilda’s head presses against her sternum, she marvels at how that rebellious heart of hers managed to keep beating despite everything it had been put through. She ignores the noise of disapproval Hubert makes somewhere to her right at the display, and if anything, her grip tightens.

“Are you alright?” Edelgard’s soft laugh is beautiful, beautiful and _alive_ , if a little startled. “I am by no means complaining, but this–”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright,” Hilda finally raises her head, hopes her smile isn’t too telling that something happened when she adds, “and so are you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- This wasn’t in my original plans, but I’m so glad I added it in. one of my fav chapters to write for sure, as painful as it was. Idk I recently finished my second CF run and it made me want to dip into an unhinged rhea/Seiros and this was the result.  
> \- As you can see, I’ve upped this to 12 chapters, since the final chap was getting a little long (it’s still kinda long, not gonna lie) but I think it will flow better this way!


	9. nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hilda unwittingly offers a very dangerous dash of hope, and an unlikely god reaches out to Edelgard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First split chapter. Not gonna do it often, but there’s 2 povs for this one.

**9**

Living in Ogygia felt dreamlike, like existing on a stolen snippet of time and space… almost like a never-ending vacation.

Although she had faced severe obstacles, the attack from the Nemean lion certainly being the worst, Hilda found her imprisonment to _not_ be _so terrible_ after all. Her recent relationship with the one other human on the island significantly helped, and her war-torn days felt like they had happened to someone else.

Which was a horrible thing. The gods had altogether stopped answering her prayers, and no dreams or guidance were being sent her way anymore, no helpful visions to tell her what to do or relay on what was going on outside. It did not stop her from burning some offerings to try and gain Goneril’s favor, but he’d been weirdly quiet after his visit, which was unlike him. Maybe Rhea found out about his visit, after all.

But, like… what in the blazes could she even _do_ but twiddle her thumbs and _wait_? This wasn’t a situation Hilda could actively try to get out of anymore. Edelgard had been very clear about that. The island would allow her to leave _only_ when some mysterious condition was met, and her hostess wasn’t exactly forthcoming with the information. 

The Adrestian still pretty much shut down every time Hilda so much as hinted at the subject, so she’d stopped breaching it entirely. She figured that, as long as it wasn’t a literal human sacrifice or anything batshit like that, she could probably bide her time and let things flow. Sooner or later the raft would show, _right_?

Hilda is still occasionally haunted by her vision from a couple of weeks ago, the one depicting Seiros and Dorothea and Edelgard and Dimitri and _all of them_ , so she strives to be _extra_ sweet to the former princess. Gods knew she deserved it.

Away from Hubert’s prying eyes, with no raft in sight, nothing stops her from losing herself to the owner of Ogygia under the shade of the trees. After a slight disagreement over some Morfis plums, Edelgard had ended up pinned under Hilda, and their grappling over the fruit had turned into an intense make out that was shaping up to be pretty hot.

With the other girl’s body arching into her, Hilda’s brain practically goes on autopilot. Time and practice had led her to perfect exactly where Edelgard liked to be touched, the scarred skin where she absolutely did not, and what ministrations would elicit the sweetest sounds. Those were especially rewarding, because Edelgard seemed intent on swallowing her whimpers or trapping her moans between their mouths, even going as far as muffling any pleased hums with the back of her hand. Her well-practiced restraint drove Hilda crazy.

The repression she carried was all-too-real.

Despite those carefully-placed walls, Hilda was slowly but surely breaking them down, chipping away at those spiky defenses of hers. They’ve been intimate many times now, but Hilda continues to be amazed at the distinct rush of helplessness she still feels, the sinking yielding, that surging tide of warmth that could make her go limp. It was like molten honey pooled in her stomach with every touch, every look. As she continues to nuzzle and shower the pale column of Edelgard’s throat with attention, she wonders if the gods cutting off contact entirely was for the best.

Suddenly, Edelgard goes rigid under her, and she watches as her lavender eyes go wide in alarm and a whispered word makes her freeze, “ _Hubert_.”

Far above them, the rustling of trees indicates that something other than the wind was jumping between branches. Hilda didn’t particularly care if they had an audience, but it was clear from Edelgard’s body language that she very much did.

It’s not like the sentient bird didn’t _know_ what was going on. They spent most of their time together, and Hilda was sharing Edelgard’s bed every night. Still, the former princess was extremely averse to having her retainer _witness_ their relationship, which was a little strange, as if something were wrong with it.

Finally, instead of some massive bird flying out, the source of the noise scurries down the trunk of one of the trees and out of sight, fluffy tail held high.

“Just a squirrel,” Hilda says.

Still, the mood’s been tainted, and Edelgard squirms out from under her. Squirrels were, after all, disturbingly similar to rats, which the Adrestian absolutely hated. It was probably the _one_ thing on this forsaken island that they did not ever eat. Hilda rolls off her, tries to cool herself off by sheer willpower, but the hot flashes are a bit intense.

Edelgard sits cross-legged beside her, and brushes the bangs out of Hilda’s eyes with an apologetic tone, “Forgive me. I… it startled me. I really believed it to be Hubert.”

“It’s okay. We can just relax for a bit,” Hilda says, allows for the corner of her lips to quirk up, “you could _laze about_ for a bit, as you call it.”

“When I was younger, I longed for the joys of idling,” Edelgard sighs, eyes downcast. “Now, I just do not know what to fill my days with.”

“Yikes. Kick a girl when she’s down, why don’t you?”

Edelgard purses her lips, trying not to smile. “Don’t misunderstand. You have been a welcome _distraction_ ,” she says, her words dripping fondness, and Hilda winks in her direction, but her tone regains its serious edge when she adds, “I was referring to when you inevitably have to leave Ogygia.”

Stupidity and boldness course through her veins and Hilda rises, supporting her weight on her elbows, as she impulsively replies, “Who says I’m leaving?”

Like the notion hadn’t _ever_ crossed her mind, Edelgard looks disconcerted, and she sputters back, “When the raft arrives– and, and _it will_ –”

“Well. Maybe I _won’t_ get on the raft. Maybe I don’t wanna have _my_ days filled with bloodshed and carnage,” Hilda lets her eyes flutter closed, lowering her body back down, and she gets that stubborn set to her jaw that she knows is identical to Holst’s.

She refuses to open her eyes to gauge Edelgard’s reaction, but the noise the former princess makes is wheeze-like, “ _What_?”

“I mean. I don’t _have_ to go back, right? The raft can’t make me get on it,” Hilda feels her own brow crinkle, “and it’s been _months_ , with no sign of this changing. So… I don’t know. Maybe I can stay here, and the others can pick up the slack from my absence. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“That’s not how this works.” Edelgard says, and her voice is so tight with emotion that Hilda finally opens her eyes to watch her. What graces her face is a strange combination of gratitude and a ferocity that Hilda does not know how to respond to, so she doesn’t. It ends up not being necessary, because Edelgard continues in a furious tone, “One of the first things you told me is that out there,” she gestures vaguely beyond the horizon, “there’s people counting on you. People you can’t let down, people that– that _need_ you.”

She knows Edelgard hates it when she’s flippant, but Hilda can’t help the shrug of her shoulders and the words that roll out, “ _Do they_ , though?”

“You said it yourself. You’re Claude’s second in command,” Edelgard reminds her. “I suppose you’re kind of like his Hubert. I would not have been able to properly function without my closest friend by my side.”

It’s… not a great comparison, and she makes a face. “But Byleth’s back,” Hilda counters, “and whatever the Professor can’t manage to do, Lorenz can probably handle. Like… I’m _pre-tty_ sure that the role of whiny brat isn’t instrumental to win a war, you know?”

Edelgard’s eyes go cold and her tone is equally as icy, “Is that what you think of yourself?”

“I mean– _yeah_?” Hilda isn’t a big fan of the _look_ she’s being leveled with. She’d rather go back to their _no-talking_ activities from earlier, but now she feels like she _has to_ elaborate. Self-deprecation had been Marianne’s thing for years, so she knows that’s what she’s emulating when her next words tumble out, “Like, sure! I’m descended from Goneril and all, so the godly blood may be a plus, but Wyvern Lords aren’t exactly _rare_. My hand-made flower crowns and bracelets aren’t valuable to an army, and… well, given my family’s shitty beliefs, sometimes I think Claude is better off, honestly. Maybe the goddess was right to take me out of the picture.” 

It’s beyond nerve-wrecking when her rant is met with stony silence, as Edelgard seems to be letting what she said sink in. She hadn’t told Edelgard about Claude’s true birthright, but the Adrestian had spent enough time around Byleth as well, so the Almyran ties their leader held probably weren’t hard to figure out. Despite renouncing her family’s prejudiced beliefs, and Claude assuring her time and time things were good between them, Hilda still carried that guilt around, of being related to the ruthless border guardians.

It takes Edelgard a painful amount of time to answer, but when she does, Hilda is drawn to every single one of her words, “As a former house leader myself that joined up with friends to wage war on the gods, I can tell you this…” her voice is quiet, but still it carries that undercurrent of authority that is so very her, “I couldn’t have done it without them, my Black Eagles. _Every single one of them_. They all had a role, a special place. They kept me sane, and grounded, they… kept me human,” violet eyes shift to meet hers, “I am positive the same holds true for one Claude von Riegan.”

All Hilda can manage in response is a non-committal grunt, and the comforting nature of her words feels like one of Seteth’s lectures, only a thousand times worse, because she _actually_ _cares_ about the person delivering it. It’s a real human person looking at her and really relating to her insecurities, not some stuffy god that loved to meddle in the affairs of mortals for his own amusement via fables and strange metaphors.

She thinks Edelgard will leave it at that, but she seems hellbent on rubbing Hilda’s nose on the fact that she wasn’t as insignificant as she feared. “How many times have you saved his life, while his back was turned, when an enemy thought they could take Claude from you?” Edelgard asks, “How many times have you put your own life on the line for the rest of the Golden Deer, with little regard for your own well-being?”

Hilda feels like she got sucker punched. She doesn’t _feel_ like answering, but Edelgard’s eyebrows are raised, waiting. Waiting for her response.

So she does.

“I– _ugh_ , I don’t know? I don’t– I’ve never really thought about it. Um. _Lots_.”

Edelgard’s words summon to the forefront of her mind Marianne’s tear-streaked face when Hilda took a brawler’s right hook intended for the frailer mage. That occasion had resulted in a nasty bruise for Hilda, but a hit like _that_ would have collapsed the von Edmund girl’s lungs. They bring back memories of Leonie’s grin when their combined battalions stopped a demonic beast from tearing Ignatz to pieces. That one time when– _Oh_. _Gods_ …

Hilda was a crier, but that didn’t mean she wanted Edelgard to _know that_ , and the words are like a bucket of ice water, but, like, in a positive way? An uplifting way, even. She throws her forearm over her eyes to hide them and tries for playfulness, “Okay, _damn_ , you _really_ don’t want me to stay with you for eternity, huh, Edelgard?”

“T-that’s not what I said,” Edelgard’s voice is soft. “But I… cannot allow myself to be selfish. Not when your fated path differs from mine.”

Hilda peeks out from under the arm slung over her eyes to spy on the other girl. She’s hugging her knees close to her chest, as if trying to make herself seem smaller. There’s a stiffness to Edelgard’s entire posture that hadn’t been there before. She seems rattled by what Hilda said, about actually staying on the island. It feels like one hell of a mixed message, for her words reminded Hilda she had people to return to, but every fiber of Edelgard’s being seemed to be begging her to stay.

Well. She supposed Edelgard herself was one hell of a mix of signals. Cold, calculating, but also yearning for human contact and reassurance. A legacy of Seiros, with that holy crested blood lighting up her veins, who wanted to see her estranged great-great-great-great-grandmother reduced to ashes. She was a noble lady that had wished to abolish titles and privileges altogether, the girl who bared her fangs at the gods.

Hilda kind of loved the contradictory nature of it all, and perhaps the raft would grace them a little more time.

* * *

It had been literal _decades_ since Edelgard was sent a dream from the gods.

When asleep, her mind and sanity belonged entirely to her nightmares. Her subconscious was constantly plagued by her imprisonment in the bowels of the Empire when she was a child. She often relieved the events that led her from being an unimportant ninth child, to the heir apparent of the Adrestian throne all those years ago.

As the edges of the dream smooth out, and the image comes into sharp focus, she feels her stomach plummet, for the room she’s shown is all-too familiar. The last time Edelgard had been there, the frail, sunken shell of the man that used to be her father had been arranged between pillows, stinking of antiseptic, too weak to do much of anything but hand over his crown.

The chambers had been significantly redecorated. Before, the twin-headed eagle of the Adrestian Empire had decorated most, if not all, the available space, in rich black, red and gold hues. Now, the room she once knew was gone, and dull whites and greys had been placed in their stead, with the Adrestian banner replaced by the symbol of Seiros. It made for an eyesore, in her opinion, as if the room belonged to the _archbishop_ and not the Emperor.

A redheaded man in a maroon robe lounges on a four-poster bed, nursing a cup of steaming tea. His long, grey-streaked hair is tied into a low ponytail, and a carefully trimmed beard in true Empire fashion adorns half his face. The lines around his eyes do not seem to be crow’s-feet from years of laughter, but rather stress. Edelgard’s heart twists into tiny knots. Overall, he did not look like his balding father, but that chip on his shoulder was unmistakably his.

Without knocking, a tall woman barges in, and her equally long hair is styled in ringlets that bounce against her collarbone as she clicks the door shut behind her. She looks harried, and just as jaded as the man on the bed, but her eyes are bright with urgency.

“Constance,” Emperor Ferdinand von Aegir looks up, “What is it?”

 _Ferdinand and Constance_.

Edelgard feels like a demonic beast is crushing her windpipe.

The last time she had seen her friends, they had been a little over twenty years old, full of life and promise and ideals. Ferdie had dreamed of providing education for all, and Constance with restoring the glory of her House. Currently, all they seemed to yearn for was for the day’s end.

It was jarring to see her classmates grow old, when Edelgard didn’t look any different. She envies the marks on their skin, the lines, the evidence of the passage of time. People that wished for immortality had no idea what it entailed, what it cost, what it _took_.

After Edelgard’s crushing defeat, the Empire had been handed over in a silver platter to Ferdinand’s family for easy control. Rhea decided it best to keep the three powers separate instead of having the Kingdom absorb Adrestia, to avoid discontentment with the Alliance.

For years, the Empire had had a poster emperor with the seven ministers pulling the strings from behind the scenes, but now the puppet master was the Church. The arranged marriage between houses Aegir and Nuvelle was for appearances only, and it was intended to produce an heir that would bear the crest of a major god, to uphold the system.

Edelgard’s island guests had let her know no such offspring existed. She wondered if Constance had sacrificed her ambition of reestablishing her House by allowing her rare crest to die out, just to spite the gods. If Constance did not have a child soon, the only way to salvage that kind of crested blood would be if the goddess Noa bore a brand-new demigod child of her own, the first in a thousand years.

The empress of Adrestia waves her hand, her lips move wordlessly, and a variant of the Silence spell is cast, one meant to avoid eavesdroppers. Constance quickly crosses the distance between the door and the bed, and joins her husband, her mouth right against his ear. From where Edelgard was stationed, no human in the flesh would have been able to discern their words, but this was a vision, and so the rich timbre of Constance’s voice is as crisp as if she were standing there with them.

“The young leader of the Alliance sent a heavily encrypted message,” the blonde says in a low, conspiratorial tone, “I am certain only a handful of people alive would be able to crack it. And I am among them.”

She passes him a folded piece of paper, and Ferdinand's nose wrinkles. “Ah, it reeks of magic. That prodigy from Ordelia must be behind such a spell.” For a moment his jaw ticks, and she assumes he’s recalling what terrible role his father played in aiding dark mages to implant yet another little girl with twin crests when they didn’t have Edelgard to control anymore.

His copper eyes shift to meet hers, “Have you read it?”

There’s a nervous shift to her shoulders, and Edelgard knows the empress is considering lying. Finally, Constance decides against it and nods, “Yes.”

The emperor inclines his head in acknowledgement, places his tea on the nightstand, and then flips open the note. He probably reads it in what is record time, his face stony. When he finishes, his nostrils flare, and his eyes are ablaze with something old and familiar. His head jerks in the direction of his lady wife, “Edelgard lives.”

 _Oh_. _Byleth finally told_ _Claude about Ogygia_.

Edelgard tenses, half expecting him to blow up at the information, but his eyes suddenly fill with tears, and Ferdinand the First of His Name is suddenly gasping for breath. By the time Constance reacts and pulls him into her lap, he’s a blubbering mess and all Edelgard can do is blink stupidly.

“All this time! She lives. She lives. She…” his joy and disbelief sour as a dark look crosses his face, “She was imprisoned by that false goddess. On an island, no less.”

“At least she was not executed as we were led to believe,” Constance says brightly, “It is very unlike the Church to allow such a gargantuan threat to resume breathing!”

Ferdinand’s lips pull back into an uncharacteristic sneer, “Rhea wanted her to suffer. She probably thought a quick death too big a mercy for someone that almost managed to topple their very existence.”

Constance cards her fingers through his locks, as he shakes, and shakes. Eventually, she speaks in an even, warm tone. “So, at long last, Leicester requests our aid. This makes the _third_ encrypted proposal we have received this year. We must reply to the Kingdom’s insurgents posthaste! If we were to join forces with Duke Fraldarius and the Margrave Gautier…”

“We cannot,” Ferdinand’s tone is sharp, “As you well know, though I may hold the title of Emperor, I possess no army, no gold, no allies. My… _our_ hands, are tied,” he swallows, his throat bobbing with the effort. “I know you were unhappy with me when I did not send supplies to the former Blue Lion commoners that defected, but you must understand, with things as they are, we add nothing to their cause.”

Edelgard’s heart leaps to her throat. _Hapi, Mercedes, Ashe, Felix and Sylvain?_ She had always suspected their ideals and their feelings towards the gods and crests lay closer to hers, but they had sided with Dimitri regardless. It took them several decades to see the error of their ways, but she could not hold it against them. Good for them for defecting to Claude’s side.

Constance hums her disapproval, then waits a few beats before answering her husband. She has the exact same look Dorothea used to get when she was about to berate Ferdie for being obtuse.

“When I joined Edelgard,” her name from the Empress’ lips is said almost in reverie, “I had nothing but the clothes on my back and the spells in my head. And that was enough.”

Ferdinand’s chuckle is humorless, but not unkind, when he replies, “We were young back then, my lady wife. It has been _years_ since my tired bones have seen real battle. I am afraid all my rusty riding skills will be good for is a distraction as I embarrass myself on the field.”

“Oh, perish the thought! If Gilbert Dominic and his prehistoric arse can continue to hold his own in battle, then surely the Noblest of Nobles can still dazzle us as he wields the Spear of Assal!”

“ _Constance_ ,” Ferdie tries to look appalled at her language, but the smile tugging at his lips wins out. A blanket of contentment settles over his face, and the young man he once was, the one full of drive and courage and kindness, peeks out. She can practically see the resolve building, his body buzzing.

Edelgard laughs, but no sound comes out. She had greatly missed the bickering between her Black Eagles, the easy energy between them despite the varying personalities and backgrounds. She was grateful to have Hubert’s and Linhardt’s company, however, even if she could understand them, they did not _really_ talk back, and proper conversations with them were impossible. This exchange was fresh air to her lungs.

As if reading her mind, the Emperor sighs, dopey smile still on his face. “I wonder what became of Hubert and Linhardt. I… do not know why, but I like to think that if my beloved were to pass, then I would feel it? That I would sense the loss of the one tied to my fate’s string? If Hubert had left this world…” he twists around in his wife’s lap, looking up at her. “He lives, I know it. Do you think they are imprisoned, with Edelgard?”

“It certainly is within the realm of possibility,” Constance enthuses, “All the more reason to join the crusade!”

“Indeed!” Ferdinand’s lids lower, and he looks almost wistful. “It would be… lovely, you know. To see them once more.”

Constance hums again, and in her head, Edelgard voices her own agreement. _Gods_ , she’d needed this. She had needed this spark of hope so, _so_ bad. Hearing her former Prime Minister speak about Hubert with such fondness, after all this time, brought her great joy. She would have to tell her retainer all about it when she woke.

Ferdie stands suddenly, tall and proud with his hand curled into a fist, “Preparations must be made at once! Tomorrow, we may slip out of Enbarr under the cover of night. We have to send word…” he begins to pace, like he used to do when brainstorming policy with Edelgard and Hubert on a future that never came to be. He canted his head to the side towards his lady wife, “Can you replicate the confidentiality spell? The Master Tactician should be made aware of his new allies.”

“‘ _Can you replicate the spell_?’ he asks!” Constance’s haughty laugh rings with disuse, but it warms Edelgard’s heart to see her in such high spirits. “Ahaha! I may be pushing forty, but my spellwork remains peerless. In fact, I hope this Ordelia girl is skilled enough to crack it!”

“Please, do not go overboard. We want to send word, not make them angry with impossible puzzles.” Ferdinand says, and as Constance opens her mouth to reply, the scene before her begins to spin and fold in on itself like stacked cards. She tries to commit the image of the couple in their mature age to memory, burning it to the back of her mind. Something to hold on to.

Edelgard tries to protest, but she’s powerless to do anything other than become dizzy with all the swirling and shaking. For some reason, a child’s laugh rings in her ears, and she wonders if it’s a clue as to which god or goddess sent her this message.

Ferdinand’s words bounce around her skull as the dream dissolves.

 _It would be lovely to see them once more_.

Yes. Yes, it would.

But for Claude to properly succeed, to meet his goals head-on, he needed his closest friend by his side. Edelgard would have cracked entirely under the pressure if Hubert had not stood by her, grounding her, helping her, holding her.

Hilda had to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there’s a lot of dreams/visions… it’s a very percy jackson-esque thing to do, but it’s just what needs to happen to see what the two remaning BEagles are up to!  
> 3 chapters to go.


	10. ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the raft shows up in Ogygia.

**10**

“Walk with me?”

Hilda looks up from her current project, a pendant that she’s engraving with the Black Eagles symbol. Edelgard was so cute whenever she spoke about her former house, Hilda wanted her to have some sort of memorabilia to remember them by. It took her a few days to find the perfect materials, and after Goneril’s impromptu visit, the task had taken her twice as long. At long last, she was almost done with it, but she wanted it to have more intricate details.

“Walk where?” Hilda asks.

The imperial noble stands beside her worktable, hands clasped behind her back and an impish smile that was rare to see lighting up her face. Normally, it would have been delightful to see, but Hilda had spent enough time around Claude von Riegan to know what a _completely_ fake smile looked like. The one being levelled at her _definitely_ fit the bill.

Edelgard had been acting kind of… fishy, for a few days now. Hilda had been slaving over the pendant, not seeing the light of day for some time, while Edelgard had been strangely adventurous. She wanted to finish this to try to make things normal again, but her hostess’ cheery disposition was way more alarming.

“A stroll along the beach? Then, maybe, some stargazing, if the clouds clear up?” Edelgard is still wearing that strained smile, and it’s freaking Hilda out. “I’ll do that elaborate braid you asked me to as well.”

“Mm, you’re being _too_ nice. I don’t trust it.”

A pout that looks straight up plagiarized from Hilda’s book graces Edelgard’s lips, and she tilts her head innocently, “I’m always nice.”

Hilda scoffs playfully, “Since _when_?”

A familiar and perfect scowl finally overtakes Edelgard’s features, and Hilda cackles, “Ah, there she is!”

She gets a light swat to her arm, which turns into Edelgard squeezing her bicep with urgency, “I want to give you something,” she holds up a folded piece of paper that she quickly tucks out of sight before she insists again, “come with me.”

 _That_ piques Hilda’s interest. Paper was a next to a useless commodity on this island. Hilda had been a big letter-writer in her youth, hell, you could bind a novel with her stream of letters to Holst during her Academy days. In Ogygia, however, there was no postal service, no _real_ use for it. The fact that Edelgard had bothered with it at all was _beyond_ interesting.

“ _Okay_ , you’ve convinced me,” Hilda sighs dramatically before covering her project with a piece of cloth, despite Edelgard already seeing it, she wanted to maintain some air of mystery. “We can’t be out too long, okay? I need more time to work on this.”

Hilda slips on her sandals, fluffs out her hair. She thinks she must have misheard when Edelgard’s voice, almost imperceptible, says back:

“I need more time, too.”

*** * ***

Their walk is pleasant, with their route and activities being normal enough. The only remarkable change is Edelgard’s jittery attitude.

“Are you _sure_ you’re okay?” Hilda asks for the umpteenth time.

They pass by the shelter she stayed in for the first few days, the one Petra from Brigid originally built. She makes a quick stop to etch her name along with the others. Proof she lived to tell the tale here, right? She writes her full name right below Byleth’s, so as to keep the chronological order. Edelgard doesn’t look amused, and instead of making her displeasure known with words, she wrings her hands together, and her eyes dart around nervously.

Hilda pauses, the arrowhead she used to carve her name is still between her fingers as she fiddles with it, “Edelgard–”

Her concerns are silenced by the Adrestian surging forward and pressing a firm, heated kiss to her lips. Hilda parts them to welcome the contact, unsure if this is going to evolve into anything more, maybe it _will_ , judging from the intensity of it, but Edelgard draws back just as fast as she’d approached. It’s _so_ abrupt, Hilda almost feels dizzy.

“I’m sorry,” Edelgard blurts out. “I thought this would get easier each time, but it glaringly _does not_.”

“Um, what is ‘ _this’_? What doesn’t get easier?”

Edelgard ignores her, retrieves her hand from between them, and tugs at it to get her to follow. Hilda tries not to get exasperated by her cryptic behavior, but it’s starting to rub her in all the wrong ways. For whatever reason, she’s guided to the dock, the wooden structure that stretches a bit deeper into the sea beyond the shore.

Hilda gets tunnel vision for Edelgard, and Edelgard only, standing in the white dress that has the back window that shows off her upper back. That golden circlet of small ram horns sits on her head, regal as ever, and she doesn’t feel as stupid anymore for thinking her a goddess. The otherwise flawless picture she makes is spoiled by her demeanor, as the young woman literally looks like she’s being walked to the gallows. Hilda gets the eerie feeling that she’s seen this scene play out before, but she just can’t remember from _where_.

Once more, Edelgard turns and draws her into a kiss, guiding their mouths together by cupping her jaw, but this one feels _different_. It lingers, it steals, it _aches_. Edelgard begins practically clawing at her chest, in her frenzy to keep her as close as possible. The intensity leaves Hilda gasping, overwhelmed, but mostly, _confused_.

Hilda forces herself to take a step back, and plants both of her hands on Edelgard’s shoulders, steadying her at a safe distance. There’s a tremor under her palms. The Goneril girl frowns, opens her mouth to question the Adrestian, but she’s beast to it.

The thick, creamy paper from before is held up between them, and Hilda’s curiosity wins out and she takes it. As she unfolds it, Edelgard’s words tumble out of her mouth like an avalanche, “The Heroes’ Relics are excellent god killers. My army collected some, if not all, during my rebellion… and you know how well that turned out,” she punctuates this with a bitter laugh before continuing, “I intended to give this to Byleth, but they… I was, I was so _hurt_ , because they didn’t… because they couldn’t love me like I thought I loved them, and it was remiss of me to behave that way.”

Hilda’s eyes glaze over the handwritten note, not quite absorbing any of it, and she feels like a caveman when her questions come out choppy and half-baked, “W-wait, what? _Loved_ Byleth? You? When? _Huh_?”

“It was terrible of me to withhold this,” Edelgard insists, as if Hilda hadn’t spoken at all, “that is why I believe the primordial goddess sent you here, to right my wrongs, and get this information to Claude. It may very well be the key to win the war.”

“We have a Hero’s Relic. We got Blutgang from when we broke Marianne’s curse,” Hilda frowns, swallows, but the look on Edelgard’s face is so desperate to get Hilda to understand this, that she holds up the document and forces her undivided attention on it, so maybe they can get on the same page.

The Leicester noble reads over the note. She has to read it over several times, because she doesn’t understand its contents. _Failnaught, Rafail Gem, Freikugel_ … the last name catches her eye. It was the name of a weapon, an axe to be exact, that had belonged to her family since Goneril himself passed it down. It had mysteriously disappeared after Edelgard’s failed rebellion, and Hilda had never seen it. There’s detailed instructions, names of people and places that Hilda _does not understand_ , and she looks up with wide eyes.

Without warning or preamble, Hilda is suddenly shoved backwards by Edelgard’s firm push against her sternum. She had been so distracted by the erratic and bizarre act, the note also, that she didn’t even notice the wooden raft that was parked _right there_ on the water, and she lands, _hard_ , on her ass.

The raft?

 _The raft_!

The mysterious item she had longed to see for months is a ten-foot square of logs lashed together with a pole for a mast and a simple white linen sail, and it did _not_ feel too seaworthy under herself, not at all. Despite that, she feels a charge of magic under her fingertips, powering it, so it was _probably_ safe.

She tries to stand and make it back on the platform, but it’s like there’s a magnet tied to the small of her back that violently forces her back down. Hilda struggles against the invisible force for several seconds, but it’s like she’s trapped in quicksand.

“H-hey, what’s…?”

Edelgard looks down at her, and she’s trying for a blank and neutral expression, but the heartbreak is all too obvious in her eyes as she says, “Ogygia has deemed it time for you to go.”

“W-what? Why _now_?” Hilda tilts her head up, perplexed. She’s starting to feel a little flustered, it’s all too sudden, _too abrupt_. “What changed?”

Edelgard is quiet for a moment, the only sound being the shrieks of seagulls and the pull of the tide, in tandem with the unbearable roar of blood in Hilda’s ears. In the blink of an eye, the Adrestian’s carefully placed mask chips and falls away, leaving her bare.

“You asked about my curse, Hilda. I did not want to tell you.” Edelgard’s clenched fists shake at her sides, tight like the set of her jaw. She refuses to meet Hilda’s eyes. “Yes, the gods send me companionship from time to time. They allow a hero to wash up on my shores, someone who needs my help. I tend to them, come to care for them…”

Hilda blinks up as the other woman trails off, and she tries to stand yet again, but she’s swiftly yanked down as if by invisible hands. Hilda hisses her frustration, “Edelgard!”

“They send a person who can never stay,” Edelgard continues, her eyes glassy, “someone who can never accept my offer of companionship for more than a little while. They send me a hero I can’t… _hm_ ,” she makes a small sound like choking, before finally voicing her whispered confession, “just the sort of person I can’t help falling in love with.”

Hilda’s head swims, and she thinks she must have misheard her, but the thin, vulnerable smile she gets helps the notion properly sink in. Her lilac eyes finally meet her gaze, and that’s… that’s when Hilda _understands_. All along, Edelgard had been doomed to fall in love with her, whether she wanted to or not. The cold, vicious front had been nothing but a defense mechanism, and even still… what Hilda had felt, _feels_ , is _real_ , but now she _had to_ question it.

She wouldn’t go as far as to say she _loved_ Edelgard, but she’d come to care for her a _great_ deal. The potential between them was unparalleled, and exciting. Hilda could certainly see herself falling for her one day, but not here, not _like this_ , and certainly not under Rhea’s conditions and without freedom of choice. It did not sit well with her that Edelgard’s feelings were somehow tainted by godly intervention, and she _had to_ believe that not _all of them_ were fabricated… right?

Hilda’s voice is small, “That’s why you were such an asshole, at first?”

“I tried very hard not to like you. But I can’t help myself.” Edelgard tosses her head back, trying to regain some of semblance of pride to her posture, but the defeated sag to her shoulders gives her away. “The Fates are cruel. They sent you to me, knowing that you would break my heart.”

The youngest Goneril tries once more to _stand_ , to give her one last hug, a last kiss even. She hadn’t appreciated the previous one enough, had taken it for granted. Hilda didn’t _know_ it would be their last, for in her head it had almost been a given that there would be another, and another after that. Like all others before it, her latest attempt to climb to her feet fails, and her rear remains firmly pressed against the wood.

“How did you know I was going to turn you down?” Hilda doesn’t want to fight, but it’s hard to keep the hurt out of her voice, even if the other woman was right. “I don’t appreciate you just assuming, you know. Choosing on my behalf.”

“You are loyal to a fault. It is _not_ a bad thing.” Edelgard’s eyes crinkle in apology and she bows her head, “Claude is one lucky man. There was no choice to be made. Still, I hope you can forgive my forcefulness.”

Maybe Edelgard hadn’t wanted to risk her actually _agreeing_ , for what awaited Hilda beyond these invisible walls was a continental _war_. What could be more appealing to a seemingly lazy, spoiled girl than to lounge on an island with a beautiful woman for all eternity?

But Hilda wasn’t that girl anymore. She had a higher calling now.

Duty and friendship tug at her heartstrings, and the knowledge that the Adrestian is right settles heavy and uncomfortable on Hilda’s chest. Edelgard’s instinct was correct. It was part of the curse, wasn’t it? _Send a person who can never stay_. Even when offered what appeared to be her ultimate fantasy, a life free of responsibility and expectations, Hilda’s loyalty to Claude bound her to his fate’s string.

She would see his war through.

“I told you before, I’m good at breaking curses,” Hilda tries for a kneeling position, and the force holding her allows it, her eyes fiery. “I’ll come back for you. For Hu-bird and Linhardt, too. I swear.”

“Hilda, please, you don’t have to–”

“I swear it on the River Styx,” the words claw out of her throat impulsively, and thunder claps overhead. Someone beyond the clouds took note of her promise to the Underworld’s malevolent river, her rash words now an unbreakable vow.

Good.

Edelgard’s face pales, “ _Hilda_. No person finds Ogygia twice. Do not make dangerous oaths you can’t possibly hope to keep–”

“But _I will_ ,” she insists, and she staggers in place as the raft starts to move from under her, an unnatural breeze pushing her forward and away on the dingy raft.

It was time to go.

Hilda crawls to the far end of her ride, desperately trying to maintain eye contact for as long as she can, “Look to the horizon. I will get you out of here. I’m not going to abandon–”

“Hilda, Hilda, it’s okay.” Edelgard smiles, watery and broken, full of anguish. She has the same exact look she had on when Hilda’s dream showed her a recreation of her goodbye with Petra, but perhaps a thousand times worse since it was directed at _her_. “Send Byleth my best. Claude, too. Strike down that false goddess for me.”

Edelgard wipes furiously at her eyes with the back of her hand and turns on her heel, but does not walk away. She just stands there, her entire frame shaking. Hilda’s heart twists in her ribcage, for it was obvious the other girl could simply not bear to watch yet another person leaving her behind.

“Edelgard…”

 _Intolerable_ was probably the word, the _only word_ , her jumbled brain could come up with right now. Hilda tries to commit the shape of her to memory, intent to bring it with her whenever she went, until they met again.

Because she _would_ be back, she _would_ break this curse.

Her silent vow bounces around in her mind before she’s swallowed by a thick fog.

* * *

The mist clears, and she recognizes the sprawling, sky-high series of towers and massive ornate windows that make up the Officer’s Academy. Even from where she is, she can see the caved-in ceiling of the cathedral that nobody ever bothered to fix. The weather’s overcast, a stark opposite to Ogygia’s sunny shores. The salty smell of the ocean left her nostrils long ago, and when the magical veil lifts, it’s not the sea, but a lazy river that she’s floating in.

Hilda recognizes it as the one next to the village at the base of the monastery, murky and brown and familiar. The same one Byleth had floated down from the day they miraculously returned ‘from the dead’. That fateful encounter when a chatty villager found them right before the millennium festival, when Claude stumbled upon their missing professor.

The magic’s hold loosens just enough that she can get off the raft, her legs wobbly, and Hilda follows the path upstream. She gets a couple of weird looks from some fishermen filleting catfish by the banks– for how often did they get to see a sunburnt noble in a pretty dress stumbling along the muddy banks of their river?

She tries not to curse Edelgard’s name as she makes her way towards the school, but the more she thinks about the suckfest that just happened, the more upset she gets. Right before she makes it back to civilization, Hilda decides to wrap the Adrestian’s memory in a tight, secure, fluffy mental blanket, and banishes it until she can actually slow down and properly digest all that happened. She tucks it away to the confines of her heart, and decides to revisit it when her head stops pounding.

It’s surprisingly easy -and, honestly, _alarming_ \- that she can just waltz right into the market’s courtyard and start wandering around. She had to have a talk with Claude about upping security, and maybe doing some patrols as well if it was _this_ easy for someone with bright pink hair to breach their base of operations.

Her heartrate picks up speed the further she walks. Hilda thanks the heavens above that on the right side, past the market, on the way to the stables, she catches sight of the colorful arrangement of people that made up _all_ of the Golden Deer house. They’re feeding the stray cats and dogs, probably at the behest of Marianne, and it’s such a charming and familiar sight that Hilda pauses a safe distance away to really savor it.

They looked _just_ like when she left them, so a hundred years hadn’t passed, thank the gods. The only significant change she could see from her standpoint was that Claude was still sporting that hideous collection of sparse hair under his nose, the one he’d been too preoccupied to shave during one of her visions.

She can’t wait a second longer.

“Hey! Hey, guys!” she cups her hands over her mouth, and a few heads turn her way. She’s practically vibrating with excitement, and she watches as a ripple of collective shock travels through her classmates.

Ignatz is the first to squint her way, his glasses catching the light as he does. “ _Is that Hilda_?!”

Hilda sprints towards them, and the group surges forward as if to meet her halfway, but suddenly Claude’s significant armspan stops them in their tracks, effectively holding them back as he barks out, “Stop, stop! Do not go any closer!”

Lorenz almost faceplants on the ground from digging his heels in, and Leonie lets out a grunt as Lysithea’s small frame blocks her from advancing. Marianne’s eyes dart nervously from their leader and back to Hilda, conflict written across those sweet brown eyes.

“ _Huh_?” Hilda almost trips over herself as she stumbles to a halt, still a healthy distance away from her friends. Claude’s stance isn’t welcoming, and there’s an acute distrust in his eyes that has _never_ been directed at her, and the sight makes her stomach sink. One of the tabby cats circles his legs, and it _hisses at her_.

“How do we know you’re _really_ Hilda?” Claude says, the seed of doubt taking root in all of the Golden Deer’s faces as they hesitate. “How do we know this isn’t another Monica situation? Or Seiros tricking us?” he cocks an eyebrow to the side, “if you’re really Ms. Hilda Valentine Goneril, _prove it_.”

It wasn’t unusual for gods to shapeshift in order to cause mayhem, but the accusation still hits her square in the chest. Historically, Agarthans, too, liked to mess with mortals this way, if the Tragedy of Duscur was any indication. Hilda knows he’s being cautious, as he should be, but she still feels hurt.

Hundreds of stories and inside jokes flash in the back of her mind, as well as closely guarded secrets and trivial things that could surely prove her identity, but she grasps at none of them. Instead, Hilda plants her hands on her hips and glares at him, “ _Fuck you_ , and fuck that thing above your lip.”

Claude’s hand shoots up to trace his poor attempt at a mustache, right as his eyes go wide and his mouth forms a little pout.

It’s all the confirmation they need.

“ _It’s Hilda_!” Lysithea beams, and she’s the first to close the distance and leap into Hilda’s arms. She catches her with ease, with Marianne being a close second, and despite being shorter than both, she has no problem gathering them in a fierce embrace. They’re immediately followed by the rest, and to boot Raphael wraps his massive arms around all of them and lifts them off the ground with a shaky laugh. It’s reminiscent of their victory at the Battle of the Eagle and Lion five years ago.

When the need for not having one’s ribs crushed demands it, the tall guy lets them go, and Hilda is surrounded with a nervous but happy energy. The commotion attracts the attention of Baltie, Yuri and none other than Byleth, who rush down the stairs from the stables to meet them. They quickly join the Golden Deer reunion and she gets a personal bear hug from Balthus that makes her heart soar even more.

“ _Goddess_ , Holst is going to be so relieved,” the King of Grappling murmurs against her hair, “I’mma have to write him a letter and let him know the good news!”

She’s immediately bombarded with questions (courtesy of Lysithea and Lorenz), tears (mostly from Marianne and Baltie) and compliments about how fit she looked (thank you, Leonie and Raph) and it’s a _lot_ , so much that she can barely keep up with their enthusiasm, and most of replies are probably incoherent.

“Don’t overwhelm her, people! There’ll be plenty of time to catch up later. My client will not be taking further questions at this time,” Claude goes for a lighthearted joke, perfectly appropriate. Ever the perceptive one, he saves her. _Gods_ , she’d missed him. The cat that had followed his lead earlier was now rubbing up against her leg, suddenly her bestie. She scratches it behind the ears before straightening back up.

Instead of bursting into tears and getting all sappy, Hilda turns to pat Claude’s sideburns, “You need to shave,” she says halfheartedly, “Me not being around is no excuse to try to look like Ludwig von Aegir.”

The former Prime Minister’s ugly mug on Adrestian stamps had been an endless source of amusement between them during their school days. They bought them _exclusively_ to use as stickers and mess with the others’ belongings, and Claude’s feigned offense at the remark makes her smile.

“My best friend disappeared, so I was a little upset and neglected my usual grooming, you understand.” He throws an arm around her shoulders and gestures at her with his free hand, “But enough about my poor personal choices. Look at you! You’re so tan, so fashionable,” he enthuses, pinching the fabric of her dress between two fingers. It was similar in style to Marianne’s Dancer outfit, just _way less_ elaborate. “Must be one hell of a story.”

Before she can reply, Byleth’s cool, detached voice asks, “How was Ogygia?”

Hilda freezes, but somehow, she’s not entirely surprised that they just _knew_. From the looks on her friend’s faces, they all were in on it. The dissonance between the passage of time makes her uncomfortable and she voices it, “Wait, wait. How long do you _think_ I was gone for?”

“Twenty days, fifteen hours, thirty-two minutes,” Lysithea says. Hilda’s eyebrows shoot up right near her hairline at the precision, and also at how _adorable_ she found it that Lys cared that much. Pink dusts the Gremory’s cheeks as she adds defensively, “Why are you looking at me like that? Someone had to keep track!”

“I… no, it… I was gone for _months_ ,” Hilda had lost track pretty early on, but she was _sure_ the days had bled into weeks and then the weeks into months. _No way_ could her time on Edelgard’s island be summed up to a little more than a fortnight!

“I thought I was in Ogygia for a year at most,” Byleth says gently, a sympathetic look on their face– or, _well_ , as best as that stoic mask of theirs can manage. “Alas, half a decade passed me by.”

“Don’t we know that all too well,” Claude says darkly, but he quickly wipes that look from his face before anyone else can catch it. His smile is all teeth, “Anyway. Teach here thinks you’ve acquired some godkiller weapons for us?”

“Oh. Yeah. The Heroes’ Relics,” Hilda says, and it feels like Edelgard’s handwritten instructions are burning a hole through her dress pocket. “I mean, I wouldn’t say _acquire_. I know where the Flame Emperor hid some of them. So I know how we can get them. Others, we’re gonna have to steal back from the Church.”

The Alliance leader pumps his fist and whistles, “Excellent! Can’t wait to have Failnaught in my hands. It will do nicely to kick some godly ass.”

Marianne’s Blutgang was the only relic that their army possessed after they broke the Edmund girl’s curse regarding her Crest of the Beast, and it was long overdue that they gather the rest. Why Sothis had steered them towards such items that would aid the destruction of her kind, she would never know. Or, maybe she kinda did, as witnessing Seiros’ brutality firsthand further cemented for her the fact that those gods were _not_ fit to rule over an antfarm, let alone all of humanity.

Lorenz nods, “Indeed, I am certain House Gloucester’s Thyrsus will serve me–” at Lysithea’s icy look, he quickly corrects himself, “– erm, will serve _Lysithea_ marvelously as well.”

Hilda _knows of_ Freikugel, the legendary axe tied to her Crest of Goneril, but she’d never seen the ugly thing, as it went missing before her time on this earth. Now, the second she found it, it would be used for attacking and dethroning gods, wow. She wonders how it would balance in her hands, if it would feel as disgusting as it looked in pictures.

“I propose a feast!” Claude says, squeezing Hilda’s frame with the arm he still had around her shoulders. “To celebrate the wayward daughter’s return, and a new quest: collect as many crest stone weapons as possible to decimate the Immaculate One. Who’s with me?”

His proposal is met with thunderous cheers, Raphael’s louder than all of them combined. Hilda claps along and considers finally allowing her emotions to overflow and translate into tears, but before she can, the whinnying of a horse and the surge of magic in the air makes the baby hairs on her arms stand on end.

Maniacal laughter makes her neck snap up to attention, and Hilda watches with an open mouth as a jet-black pegasus flies overhead and out of reach, towards the market. A blonde woman with magic sparkling along her arms seems to be having the time of her _life_. It had been a while since Hilda had seen a Dark Flier, but this one makes her pause.

She’d seen that elegant profile with the purple streaks in the hair in stamps and portraits before.

Hilda stomps her foot and points an accusing finger in the general direction of the flier, “Is that the fucking Adrestian Empress?!”

“Oh, yeah.” Claude’s look is anything but sheepish. In fact, he looks positively cocky as he jerks a thumb behind them towards the stables, “We got some new recruits.”

The cynical man grins even wider at Hilda’s bewildered look, the kind of rare smile that actually reaches his gorgeous green eyes. His next question sends a pang of ice straight to her veins.

“Would you like to meet Emperor Ferdinand?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....2 chapters left and i already have brainworms for another hildagard idea,, nobody look at me i have no self control


	11. eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Golden Deer capitalize on their momentum to win the war once and for all, and Edelgard is left to her own devices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Combination of CF and VW ahead! (best routes!!)

**11**

Despite having the odds _most definitely_ stacked against them, it seemed lady fortune was starting to finally smile upon the former Golden Deer.

The series of quests to retrieve _or_ steal the Heroes’ Relics were going perfectly… almost _too_ perfect. Claude and Lysithea were starting to drive Hilda crazy with their nitpicking and conspiracy theories about _how_ things could be going so smoothly for them at long last. They were convinced something was amiss, that the order of the world could not possibly be in their favor just this once.

Hilda managed to reclaim the legendary axe Freikugel after an exhausting fight against a demonic beast, whose heads would multiply by two when one got cut off. The hydra’s defenses had been a _pain_ to tear down, let alone the effort it took to actually _kill_ it, and that was just the beginning of her headache. Her newfound prize came with an accompanying surprise: apparently, tradition dictated that the head of house Goneril should be they who wielded the Hero’s relic. In light of her successful quest, Holst had been all-too-happy to fork over all the responsibility of leading the family, much to Hilda’s chagrin.

She couldn’t be too mad. Hilda knew that, in his heart, her brother longed for a quiet life after being forced to shoulder the protection of their border, of having to bear on his own all of those crushing expectations Hilda had always been so terrified of. He deserved a peaceful life with Balthus in a remote farm after all of this was over, so slowly easing some of the burden was the least she could do.

So, yeah. She kind of was the Duchess of Goneril now. The best part came with dangling it over Lorenz’s head, since his father, Count Gloucester, said he’d only leave the position to his son once he met his maker, so. Hilda definitely enjoyed constantly reminding him of her new title, as the vein in his forehead tended to bulge whenever she complained about her tiresome noble responsibilities, and she and Lysithea had an ongoing bet of when he’d finally implode.

Regarding other, _better_ , news, the mighty Almyran navy had invaded Enbarr. They took control over the city once Emperor Ferdinand vacated the seat of power, greatly weakening the god’s influence to the south. A shaky alliance with the Brigid queen ( _her name was Petra! Hilda would have to look into that_ ) had facilitated the assault, and now Nader and his troops remained there, awaiting Claude’s victory to the north.

Two days ago, they seized control over the Silver Maiden. Having the Fortress City of Arianrhod under Leicester’s control had been the biggest blow to Rhea since the Almyran taking of Enbarr. A handful of minor _gods_ had gone down defending it, their divine flesh pierced by the Heroes’ Relics like butter. Seeing them go down, vulnerable and helpless against their new weapons, had emboldened them a ridiculous amount.

Goneril had _not_ been there, to her great relief. Hilda doesn’t actually know if she’d have the guts to cleave him in half, truth be told. He just… he looked too much like Holst, he was _so_ familiar to her. His godly blood coursed through her veins. She hoped he would have the good sense to yield, come the final battle. The image of the god Charon’s broken body, bleeding golden ichor as he lay crumpled on the steps of the Silver Maiden, still haunted her dreams.

Another thing that was going well for them– they seemed to be attracting new supporters every single day. After Emperor Ferdinand and Empress Constance openly joined their crusade, several of _their_ former Blue Lion’s classmates -the ones that fought against Edelgard before Hilda’s time- were popping up with newfound resolves.

Hilda even caught a glimpse of the excitable Professor Annette, their newest recruit, talking animatedly with a nun, perhaps a long-lost friend. The scowling boy from her vision had turned out to be none other than Duke Felix Fraldarius, and despite being something of a lone wolf, he was the best sword instructor Hilda had ever seen, and Claude kept getting his ass beat over and over during their lessons. The only one that seemed to be able to surpass that bitter man was Byleth, and barely.

“Are we sure we want King Dimitri’s yes-men around?” not for the first time, Leonie’s nose wrinkles in distrust as the Pegasus knight from Galatea soars past them, high above them as Hilda and her friends hang by the stables, “This sudden change of heart could’ve been real good several decades ago if you ask me!”

“Yeah. Maybe then Edelgard could’ve, like, actually won,” Hilda says, and despite saying the name, she tries her hardest not to think about _her_.

 _Gods_ , it was no use. The ache of longing in her chest still weighs on her, and in her mind’s eye, she can _see_ the young emperor, cursing at the gods above and bearing the scars of their wrath on her heart. It still blew Hilda’s mind that Edelgard had been cursed to fall in love with her from the start, that it was all predestined to happen.

To cope, she had convinced herself that _not all of it_ could have possibly been fake. Like, loads of the moments they had shared had been _truly_ heartwarming, spontaneous, and honestly _good_. Hilda herself had developed strong feelings, _real ones_ , and she could not stomach the thought that the same may not hold true for Edelgard, at least in some capacity.

 _Just a little longer. Let me see this war through, and I will find you again_ , Hilda’s vow to the river Styx is one she had pretty much tattooed to the back of her eyelids by now, for she was determined to make good on her word. Swearing on the Underworld’s river was as binding as could be, and if she did not deliver on her promise, the ghastly torturers down there would certainly place a target on her back, and as long as she lived, they would pursue her relentlessly until an early grave.

“At least they are here now…” Marianne’s voice chimes. Her soft brown eyes don’t stray from her task as she combs mud and grime out of Dorte’s flank. “They are very strong.”

Leonie had a point that Hilda certainly agreed with, regarding how these people had enabled Dimitri’s antics for years without giving him the correct kind of help. They just… let him behave like a wild animal, clamoring about separating people’s heads from their shoulders and raving on and on about killing every last one of them… and then aiding him in doing so. However, there was no arguing with Claude once he welcomed some of the most elite Faerghian warriors to their army, all traitors to their homeland now.

“Well, I don’t like ’em. Also, the nerve of this man! Having us wait on him!” Leonie scuffs her boot against the dry soil. Her tolerance towards nobles had hit a new low over the years, and Hilda couldn’t blame her.

The Margrave Gautier was _supposed_ to meet them here to brush up on the latest axe and lance techniques taught at the Officer’s Academy, and Claude had volunteered his two best for the job. Hilda wonders why he needs the lessons, as he’s from a border town too, likely an experienced warrior who saw combat often. Like the Gonerils with Almyra, the Gautiers had the people of Sreng to worry about. Her guess was that he just felt lonely, and in need of some human contact. Despite allegedly being childhood friends, things were chilly between most of the Faerghians.

“Seriously, where’s the skinny old git?” Leonie scowls.

The skinny old git actually pops his head around the corner with a frown, “My name is Sylvain.”

Leonie’s face reddens, and Hilda barely contains a startled yelp. The last time that this man had crossed her mind, had been when Goneril showed her the vision of Edelgard on that boat, when she witnessed Dorothea Arnault’s gruesome transformation into a siren. He hadn’t looked _happy_ about it, but he had done nothing to stop it, either. It left a bad taste in Hilda’s mouth.

He’d been younger back then, with zero facial hair and a lean, muscular frame. The Margrave still had that fiery hair, now peppered with grey, and an unruly beard covered half his face. He was still handsome, _definitely_ , but there was a quiet, lingering _energy_ , the kind you should stay away from.

Hilda recognized it. It reeked of self-loathing.

The years hadn’t been kind to him.

To both of their surprises, it’s Marianne who manages to save the day. “S-she was joking around, Lord Gautier... Leonie meant no offense.”

“It’s alright,” he shrugs, gives them an easy smile, but it’s the _Claude-kind_ ; the type that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I tend to inspire the ire of ladies regardless of what I do,” and _he winks_ , but it’s just as halfhearted as his smile.

Leonie grunts out a low ‘ _what she said’_ as she grabs her lance from where it’s leaning against the stable’s wall. Hilda sighs and hefts her own training weapon over her shoulder, and hopes the day can go by without incident.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Leonie is doing a rather poor job at hiding her contempt for the Faerghian, if she’s even trying at all. It becomes abundantly clear she’s _not_ when she brusquely adds, “We’ll just show you some quick drills so you can make it to noon prayer like a good little noble, okay?”

Hilda winces on his behalf, as that had been uncalled for, but if anything, the Margrave looks amused. He scratches at the underside of his beard, “Now, Ms. Pinelli, you wound me. Do I really look like someone that gives two shits about earning the favor of the gods?”

Heavy silence settles over the Alliance girls, as even Marianne’s consistent brushing is abruptly paused as the older man’s words sink in. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, aware he’s made them uncomfortable, but intent to gauge their response to _that_. Hilda’s lips feel sealed shut.

“Well,” Leonie starts, “you’ve had it pretty good under the gods for years, haven’t you? You fought a war on their behalf. You supported their stupid crest system and upheld it.”

“Crests ruined my life,” Sylvain’s copper eyes darken, “My brother hated me because of them, and then he died because of them,” he tucks his arms behind his head, and he shoots them an empty smile, “I was little more than a studhorse for my family. So, _no_. I hold no respect for the gods,” he spits to the side, and not for the first time, Hilda has to wonder why men insist on poisoning the earth like that.

“And just _now_ you come to that realization? Right before your country is about to be invaded?” Hilda didn’t know Leonie’s tone could get so condescending, “Did you and your Blue Lion pals have a collective revelation, or something?”

He shakes his head, “We have felt uneasy with our home country for years, Leonie. When we were young, we didn’t see anything wrong with this system that benefitted us,” the Margrave’s words hit a little too close to home for Hilda as he continues, “but then came the Flame Emperor’s manifesto, her war, and… I suppose loyalty to Dimitri was a large factor in our decision. Hell, the _only_ factor. We wanted to support him so bad, to help him out of that darkness, that… that we forgot who we were. We let ourselves side with uncaring and unfeeling gods, and… that was a mistake.”

The shame emanating from him is powerful, it’s a great weight that he carries, and Hilda feels a spark of admiration at his desire to do what he thinks is right even if it’s a few decades late. Here Sylvain was, humbled by life and eager to learn from two rebels half his age in order to better himself.

“In truth, _all_ of my friend’s lives were negatively impacted by the gods and their self-serving church,” Sylvain Gautier’s gaze drops, “Ashe. His adoptive family slaughtered under the orders of Seiros. Ingrid, all her value placed on furthering the goddess Daphnel’s lineage. Mercedes… almost forced to bear her stepfather’s child in pursuit of a crested heir, and-and then there’s what they did to her brother, strung up on some rocks, to be pecked at for eternity–”

“That’s enough,” Leonie says sharply. She presses the wooden part of her lance against the Margrave’s chest and he has no choice but to bring his hands up and take it, “I don’t want your life story, or theirs. Just… shut up. You’re here _now_ , and I guess that’s what counts. So, let’s go train.”

As she stalks away towards the training grounds, not looking over her shoulder to see if they’re following, a light touch on her arm makes Hilda turn to face the former Blue Lion.

“Edelgard was right,” he says, quietly. He raises his eyes to the heavens as if his voice could carry across the ocean and whisper to Ogygia. “She was right, the crests are to blame.”

*** * ***

Watching the Master Tactician at work was truly a sight to behold. All of Claude’s cunning, wit, ridiculousness _and_ careful planning shone with every suggestion, explanation, trick and tactic, boiling over into risky gambles or fool-proof strategies. Depending on the situation, Claude adapted accordingly, and it was hard not to swoon just watching that head of his do its magic.

The Golden Deer all held instrumental roles, but Lorenz and Hilda had become his closest confidants, the ones he went over his strategies with the night before he would reveal them to the rest of the army. Lorenz was more calculating and practical, while Hilda tended to wildly poke holes and offer advice that lesser minds would find useless, but not Claude’s. He always managed to find ways to weave all of their chaotic thoughts into just the perfect plot. The only other one privy to these moments was Byleth, with their experience and brilliance, they were the cherry to their cake.

“I think Seiros is going to sacrifice Dimitri at the Tailtean Plains,” Claude muses, like he’s announcing the weather, or voicing the menu at the dining hall. He shifts some pieces around on his war map, knocks over the one shaped like a little pig. Wait, no. It has tusks.

It’s a boar.

“Oookay?” Hilda cocks an eyebrow to the side, “Why do we think that?”

“It’s simple, really. It’s so she can brush up the defenses of Fhirdiad for one final assault… no other reason than to buy some precious time. What’s thousands of mortal lives lost to her, anyway? Even if the life lost just-so happens to be called _king_ by the masses,” he continues with the casual tone, and the nonchalance in it is starting to rub her the wrong way.

“I agree,” the Professor’s cool gaze flicks over to Claude, and they get that tone they used to during lectures in class, “I am also inclined to believe she is going to implement desperate and destructive methods once we bring the fight to her. Our forcefulness will make the goddess feel like a cornered animal. She _will_ lash out.”

Claude hums in agreement, then suddenly snaps his fingers in Lorenz’s direction, “A big fat bullion says she’s going to set the city on fire, too. Or flood it… but fire is more effective.”

“Gods. You’ve left me with the same question,” Hilda’s brows furrow together, “ _Why_?”

Claude bares his teeth in what’s supposed to be a smile, “Immortals don’t burn. They don’t get extra crispy like us puny humans do,” he looks to Byleth for approval, and from the pleased look on their face, they were on the same page. Claude vaguely gestures towards where Fhirdiad is marked on the map, “Again, it’s a matter of her not caring about our lives, or those of her allies apparently. She’s willing to sacrifice them if it means she gets an advantage, however minuscule it may be.”

“So we prepare for the instance of a massive fire in the middle of the city.” Lorenz’s quill scratches against his notes on their increasingly complicated plan. The Gloucester heir raises his chin, “Noted for the capital. Anything else regarding the Plains?”

“Hm. One moment.”

The Master Tactician sucks in a breath, hollowing out his cheeks, and his mind gets to work once more. His fingers hover over a few pieces, he changes his mind, moves them around, then puts them back, opts to slide around others. Chips representing supplies get moved around, as do ambushes and backup forces. Several secret schemes are repurposed. He mutters to himself occasionally, but otherwise, they let him work in silence. It’s mesmerizing to watch, really. Claude’s deft fingers loop and uncoil yarn, changing connections, switching out fates, sparing or dooming soldiers by his will alone.

Hilda wonders if he feels like a god.

They were being extra meticulous, for the way things were going, the Plains and the northern capital would hopefully be their last two battles, one after the other. There would be no time to plan this thoroughly once they march north, so it had to be done here and now. It made Hilda feel tingly all over, and she wasn’t sure if it was in a good sense. 

Finally, Claude leans back, his war map rearranged to his liking. It looks mostly the same, but Hilda sees that one solider positioned near King Dimitri’s last line of defense suddenly has a red marker around him, deeming him extremely dangerous.

“We keep an eye on Molinaro,” Claude’s eyes shift over to the piece labeled with Duscur’s symbol, “My little birds claim he’s got something planned, something _bad_. Don’t have exact details, but it _may_ include blood magic,” he picks up the piece, rolls it between his fingers, “taking him out will be a priority.”

Hilda knows that by _little birds_ he means his vast and complicated network of spies. Some his own, some borrowed from Yuri, others actually inherited from Hubert’s handpicked team when everything fell apart for them. Those leftover Imperial loyalists that weren’t crushed under Rhea’s new administration were trickier to get to trust Claude, but since he was essentially the Flame Emperor’s disciple, they had come to a shaky understanding.

“We will need Constance’s Bolting spell for this. I think that would work well, the range on that is the best we got, since we lack a Meteor user,” Claude cants his head towards Hilda, “Thoughts?”

It always flattered her whenever he sought out her opinion over Byleth’s, or anyone else’s, really. Claude had always valued her insight, even before she became the head of her house. They complemented the other well. Sometimes, she picked up on things that he did not, and when his brain was buzzing with ideas like this, he tended to overlook other parts of the picture– and those gaps were the ones Hilda was good at spotting.

“She’s a great option, and Bolting is stupid strong,” Hilda says, “but… I swear, I think the Empress should borrow Ignatz’s glasses sometimes. She gets too excited and her aim isn’t always the best. A miss on Dedue could mean _big_ trouble,” somewhere along the night, they had lost the piece that represented Lysithea, and they had been using a small square of fudge instead. It was kind of fitting, and the Gremory would probably approve. Hilda grabs it and slides it across the map, “I think Lysi holding Thyrsus can do in a pinch, if Her Majesty were to miss. She can nuke him from across the river, _like this_ , and he won’t be able to hit her back.”

“That… is actually a fantastic point,” Lorenz’s quill flies across his notes once more. It wasn’t rare for them to brainstorm more than one outcome, plan in the event of victory and of loss.

Claude beams at her, and she returns the gesture. He taps a finger to his chin, and if she knows this man as well as she thinks she does, he’s probably about to add yet another precaution.

“And if Lysithea were to miss,” Claude says, “then I will leave it up to _you_ , dearest Hilda. Bash his armor in with a hammer or a mace, then _fly away_ ,” he glances at the Professor, “but ideally, we want it done from a distance. Keep that in mind when arranging our formation, Teach. Whatever they’re planning, I don’t want anyone left alone on their bank.”

“You got it, Mr. Leader Man.”

“I will keep that in mind, Claude.”

Spending any more time obsessing over what would happen if Hilda, already a _backup to the backup_ , were to fail, was short of pointless, so they _don’t_. Despite Claude’s insistence on relying on schemes and betting on odds, sometimes improvising ended up being the right call, especially given how chaotic their teamwork could get.

In the end, what’s that thing people said about the best-laid plans?

“Very well, I believe we are sufficiently prepared for the Tailtean Plains.” Lorenz makes several annotations before pausing once more, “Regarding the assault on Fhirdiad… we must assume that Seiros will take on the form of the Immaculate One. If the city will be set on fire, as you say, and if you insist on being on the front lines, Claude, then you will need mobile soldiers by your side to reach her and annihilate her defenses.”

“I’m in,” Hilda says immediately. She slides the pink hand-crafted wyvern piece beside Claude’s white and gold one, shoulder-to-shoulder. Wow, look at her, offering to go fight into the thicket of the danger. She doesn’t miss the small smile Claude sends her way.

Byleth shuffles their mint-colored piece forward as well, “I, too, will fight Seiros alongside you. I hired a battalion for Ignatz that can help others stride great distances. Therefore, we will surround the Immaculate One and overwhelm her before her power becomes too great. The godkiller weapons will take care of the rest.” 

“All fliers will come with me,” Claude nods, “Also, send word to any mage that knows Wrap. We’ll want them to teleport over some backup forces consisting on heavy-hitters that don’t have loads of mobility… um,” he blinks suddenly, his eyes kind of glassing over the war map before him, “ _wow_ , this is tiring,” Claude rubs at his temples, cranes his head back with a pop, “how long have we been at it?”

“Uh. The sun’s about to come up,” Hilda stretches, then whimpers when the bones on her back crack like she’s eighty years old and not twenty-four. “ _Wow_ , I can’t feel my ass. Please get better seat cushions for the chairs?”

“Ah, so it’s been _several_ hours.” Claude rubs at one of his eyes with the back of his hand and offers a sheepish smile, “Sorry, everyone. Got a little carried away.”

“Well, it _is_ only our very lives on the line, as well as thousands of others,” Lorenz says dryly, “a little diligence was perhaps warranted.”

Claude barks out a laugh that Hilda mirrors, and even Byleth smiles at the jest. They sit in comfortable silence and watch the sun peek over the horizon, washing them in the colors of the sunrise. Despite trying to overthrow them and loathing their existance, Claude definitely looks like a god when surrounded in this soft golden light.

“Tomorrow we march for the Plains,” the Duke Riegan says, almost in awe. He smiles, and it rivals the brightness of the rising sun, “Five years in the making… _more_ , if you count a broken little boy wishing the world could be different on the streets of Almyra,” he sniffs, trying to play it off as allergies. It doesn’t work.

Claude’s eyes flit to meet all of their gazes individually, heavy and serious, before he says, “Tomorrow, at long last… Fodlan’s new dawn awaits.”

* * *

After Hilda leaves, everything seems to snowball and spiral out of Edelgard’s control.

The days that followed her heroes’ departures were always the hardest. The creeping feelings of devastation and emptiness were quick to take their hold, and there was no reasoning with them. There was no bargaining or explaining to her body or mind that the affinity she felt towards heroes was mostly fabricated, that it wasn’t _real_. No matter how many times Edelgard approached this with cold logic and hard facts, the truth was, the unbridled love she felt for them didn’t feel fake in the slightest, and that was the problem, wasn’t it? Part of the torture was not knowing how much of it was actually real, and what gaps were filled in by magic.

It doesn’t help her growing despair that she finds Hilda’s Black Eagles pendant and hangs it around her neck, making it a constant reminder of her incredible loss. It was like a metaphor of Hilda’s handprint on her heart, searing her skin, from the inside out, all-consuming and terrible in its wake.

But then things only get worse.

Linhardt disappears, which wasn’t unusual for him. What was unusual is that he _doesn’t come back_ after a few days. Despite it not being her strong suit, Edelgard hunts down and tries laying out a pheasant roast, one of his favorite meals. While he could certainly not eat it, she knows he enjoyed the smell and even the sight.

No pleasant breeze ruffles her hair, no comforting gust of air stirs her awake. There was no sign of the Hevring wind spirit anywhere.

Hubert’s presence anchors and comforts her, and he takes care of her despite his limited capabilities in his new body. He keeps her fed and clean, as best as he can in the middle of her spiral. He doesn’t even squawk in complaint when his plumage becomes a mess of tears and snot, very unbecoming of what she was usually like.

Edelgard tries everything she can think of, and her frantic search gives her a purpose and a distraction from her less than ideal mental state. It’s such a despairing situation that she resorts to making an offering to the goddess Cethleann, a practice she hadn’t done _in decades_. Given her history, many would rightly consider the desperate plea an insult. She figured, since Linhardt bore her crest, that perhaps she would find it within herself to care about his disappearance, even if it was just to protect her bloodline.

As expected, her prayer goes unanswered, for why would a goddess care about her descendant who joined in the fight against her kind?

Edelgard gets the dark idea of possibly hurting herself, just to see if he’d appear then in order to heal her, as he had many times before. Ultimately, she decides against it. If Linhardt was well and truly _gone_ , then harming herself would only add to the insurmountable amount of pain she already did feel. In the end, cold resignation is all Edelgard can manage.

And then there were two.

*** * ***

…

The day Hubert dies, is the day Edelgard von Hresvelg stops caring.

She feels completely numb when she discovers his body, icy and unmoving, out by Petra’s shelter.

His eyes are open, but they aren’t the light green that was the telltale to his human nature, but an endless black void, exactly like a regular animal. She hadn’t seen him for a couple of days, and like Linhardt before him, the disappearance wasn’t cause for concern at first. But when his absence became glaring, she set out to find him.

She wished she hadn’t.

Edelgard never pictured herself crying over the deceased body of a bird, but her eyes fill with hot tears before she even thinks to examine it for foul play. As far as she can tell, it’s like he simply went to sleep and never woke up, with no awkward angles to his neck or poisonous juice dribbling down his beak. She crawls to the side and expels the contents of her scarce breakfast, emptying it before continuing her vigil over her dearest friend.

She had refused to let the death of her siblings control her, had not allowed her personal tragedies to prevent her from walking her crimson path. Edelgard had never stooped to be a servant to her ghosts, but with this… Dimitri’s unhinged ways suddenly made a lot more sense. _Gods_ , she hadn’t thought about her estranged stepbrother in _years_.

With sudden clarity she realizes she’s shaking. Her muscles twitch and ache. Sweat gathers at her brow, her dress already damp. Edelgard felt hot, _too hot_. The heat burns like a fever. She always thought he would be the one burying _her_ , outliving her, not the other way around. If the instability of her artificial crest didn’t get to her first, turning her into a demonic beast, then the honor would surely fall to one of her countless enemies.

But it had been Hubert… quiet, loyal Hubert, her steadfast friend and ally, her chosen _family_. It had never occurred to her that she would be left living in this world with him gone, it was just too unthinkable, too horrible. Then again, her life had never been fair, had it? But this wasn’t about fairness.

Living in a world without Hubert von Vestra felt impossible.

She can’t hold back a sob. Then another sob breaks free, one that wracks her entire body and leaves her gasping. The last time Edelgard had cried this hard had been in the bowels of Enbarr, when her skin had been cut open and her siblings had breathed their last.

Her stomach rebels and she heaves again, only this time nothing comes up but bile and spit. Edelgard claws at her chest as her breaths come in, sharp and excruciating. She squeezes her eyes shut and wheezes, choking out gasps as the tightness in her chest only wounds tighter and tighter.

Not for the first time in the matter of a few days, she wonders if she is dying. Her heart pounds fiercely against her chest, but it doesn’t _feel_ like a heart, like the mass of flesh and muscle that she knows it is; it’s akin to a piece of lead that’s trying to splinter her bones, trying to crush them from the inside out, and the pain is so bad she would not be remotely opposed to it shattering her ribcage once and for all.

She is burning up. She wonders if her skin might catch fire.

For the first time in a long, _long_ time, Edelgard is well and truly alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -not… gonna lie this was tough to write. angst is hard for me, and Hubert is one of my faves....
> 
> -Just the finale to go!! i… almost can’t believe the daydream au that I had in my head turned into a 50k monster,, i literally have no self-control SOS


	12. twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End.

**12**

Edelgard only sees the wyverns approaching because of incredible timing.

The only reason she ever left the house anymore was to place flowers over Hubert and Linhardt’s makeshift graves, if at all. She had buried them by the spring, under the soft, mossy ground, because she couldn’t muster up the energy to dig with her bare hands anywhere else. Lin’s consisted in the symbolic placing of a tombstone, since there was no body to bury. Edelgard had slept by their final resting place for several days, only lapping at the freshwater there and picking at some of the bark on the trees, like some kind of woodland creature.

Living outdoors had only worsened the deep depression she found herself in, so Edelgard had reluctantly retreated to live out her days at the house after a mirage of Hubert started showing up to torment her. She fervently wished Seiros would just take pity on her idiot descendant and strip her of her immortality, so maybe she could find the semblance of happiness in the afterlife… that, if she wasn’t sent to the Fields of Punishment or Tartarus for her deeds while alive.

At first, Edelgard thinks she must be hallucinating the flying beasts. It wouldn’t be the first time. Her sanity had been extremely difficult to maintain, and she grappled with it constantly. Edelgard had lost track of how many imaginary conversations she’d had with the Hubert her fevered mind had come up with to cope since his passing.

But the screeches and the flap of their wings _seems_ real enough, and they make the hairs on her nape stand on end. The hopeless and defeated half of her longs to stay right where she is, for if it was another hero approaching to break her heart, she wanted absolutely _no_ part in being a footnote in their story. Edelgard was still heartsick enough over Hilda as it was.

The sneering mirage of Hubert lounging in the corner of her room cocks its head to the side, mocking and malevolent, as if asking, _Well_? The crimson eyes the illusion bears shine in challenge, daring her to stand, to _move_. Edelgard’s bones ache to rush at the fake Hubert and break him, too; shatter that cool facade, hurt him… force him feel some tiny part of the agony inside herself.

The fake Hubert doesn’t speak. He never does, but _gods_ , does he _sigh_. His constant intakes of breath chip at her every single time, for they serve as a cruel reminder that her _actual_ retainer had breathed his last. Her bloodshot eyes drag away from the suspicious figures on the horizon only to pin the shadowy man across from her with a glare. All he does in response is take an exaggerated lungful of air, exhale it, followed by a smirk, like he _knows_ how much it affects her when he does. 

What gets her to eventually move is the unbearable amount of guilt that floods her when she looks at the figment of her imagination for too long. Her unsteady legs move of their own accord, and they take her to the door. Fake-Hubert’s low, dark chuckle spurs her forward, his first sound _ever_ , and Edelgard flees. She rushes to the beach, with a renewed strength she did not know she still had in her, but when she reaches it, further misery fills her belly.

She was _definitely_ still hallucinating, for a snow-white wyvern was landing on her sands. She’d _never_ seen an albino species in Fodlan, let alone Ogygia. Not even the gods that favored such beasts rode that color variation.

Another dark wyvern is fast approaching, but clearly this breed was a lot faster. There are two figures on it, and Edelgard squints against the glare of the sun to see whether they’re gods. It _had_ been a while since one stopped by to mess with her, maybe they were getting bored. The shorter of the two starts running towards her, slowed down by the sand and their long skirts, and Edelgard’s lungs constrict.

It was one of her sisters, welcoming her to the afterlife, it _had to be_.

“Edelgard? Edelgard von Hresvelg?”

The young woman stops but a couple of steps in front of her and stares, and it’s like looking into a mirror. Not just from the obvious things, such as the shock of white hair or the thick surgical scars that marred them on the same exact places, but something on a deeper level. It’s the stunted growth and the heaviness to her shoulders, a gaze that betrays years of nightmares behind those light eyes.

“What…” Edelgard’s voice is hoarse, both from disuse and abuse, as she’d been wailing during her heightened nightmares a lot more as of late. As if swallowing down a stone, she manages to clear her throat, “Am I dead, finally? _Greta_?”

“My name is Lysithea,” the girl’s cherry eyes are wide as she holds up a hand alight with magic, “Lysithea von Ordelia,” as the last of her name leaves her lips, Edelgard cringes as the Heal is cast on her, arranging some of the chaos raging inside her body.

The spell makes her head a little less cloudy, forces her headspace back to the land of the living. The young girl’s tone is apologetic, “Sorry if it felt strange. My faith isn’t that strong anymore, but you really looked like you needed a boost.”

Edelgard still feels somewhat sluggish as she struggles to remember… Lysithea… _Hilda’s friend_. The one with the Gloucester and Charon crests, the one that…

Oh, gods.

When her blatant staring borders on impolite, Lysithea shifts anxiously in place and murmurs, “You… you were the first.”

Edelgard’s brain had slowed to a crawl, but the Gremory’s meek words manage to break through the mental fog. It’s not an accusation, or a question, really. At first the Adrestian isn’t sure if a reply is expected of her, but she chooses to do it all the same.

“I was hoping to be the last,” Edelgard’s features twist into a grimace, and she tries to force some cordiality into her demeanor. “I am very sorry my failure ended up costing you, and yours.”

The younger girl parts her lips, about to say something else, when her companion finally jogs across the strip of beach and joins them. His clothes are a creamy color scheme, baggy but elegant, and the sash around his waist looks like it was imported from across the eastern border. A golden crown with intricate antlers on the front adorns the dark curls on his head, not unlike the horned one Edelgard wore. There’s a wicked bow strapped to his back, one she recognizes as Failnaught.

She had been in possession of the weapon, for a while, before it was confiscated by the Church. Nobody in her army had ever managed to make much use of it, as they had lacked the correct Crest to properly wield it. It was good to see it in the hands of mortals once more.

The handsome man that joins them could be none other than Claude von Riegan, his face glowing with sheer excitement. Before anything can come out of either of their mouths, he rummages inside his loose coat and offers the item within to her, which Edelgard accepts with shaking hands.

It’s her Flame Emperor mask.

The symbol she donned for over a year, that altered her voice and protected her identity, the same that terrorized her half-brother as she prepared to rise up against the Church. Dimitri had crushed it under his heel as he descended into madness after her big reveal on graduation day, and she hadn’t thought about it since.

A thick paste crisscrosses over the porcelain and binds it together once more. It’s not a professional job by any means, but she could tell great care had been put into fitting all the pieces back together, and only some tiny chips seemed to be missing. It was impressive, to be honest, that someone took on the painstaking task of collecting the pieces, let alone fusing the mask back together.

Well, clearly not just a random _someone_. Claude was responsible for this, she was certain. Hilda and Byleth had really stressed the fact that it was this man who had picked up her mantle after her complete and utter failure. The Alliance noble had managed to dig up the truth from the depths of Abyss, gather a formidable army, and rise up against their godly oppressors. 

“I… thank you, Claude,” Edelgard’s fingers trace the careful craftmanship of it, and she feels some of the heaviness crushing her soul lift, “Thank you very much.”

“Unfortunately I only had some shitty glue at hand when restoring it,” are the first words the leader of the Alliance offers, and his smile stays firmly in place, “but I thought you might want this… don’t know if you’re the sentimental type. Hilda said yes.”

“Hilda said what?”

They swivel around in unison at the sound of the singsong voice. The other wyvern had landed, and Hilda Goneril approaches them with the biggest grin Edelgard has ever seen. Affection swells in her chest, massive and uplifting, and Edelgard’s legs start moving of their own accord.

When her body collides against Hilda’s solid frame, she finally accepts that what’s happening is _real_ , that it’s not a sick cosmic joke from Seiros, and that there may be some light at the seemingly never-ending tunnel that was her life. The floral hint of her perfume makes her head swim in the best of ways, and it takes everything in her to hold back a sob of relief.

Edelgard feels overwhelmed at this series of events. Could things like this _really_ happen? Would Rhea allow her so much happiness? Regardless, their presence seems to anchor her again to the present, and for the first time in what felt like months of grieving, she allows herself to exist in _this_ moment, wills her mind to be present.

Hilda had done it. She came back. The youngest Goneril had found Ogygia _twice_.

When they part, she cannot stop staring at Hilda, drinking her in, convincing herself that this is her life, that this is _real_. Hilda’s dazzling smile widens and she pulls her in for another embrace, as if to cement that _yes_ this is happening, and her melodic laugh in her ear makes her heart soar, “I _told you_ I was utterly amazing at breaking curses.”

“That’s debatable,” Lysithea says dryly, off to the left. “You’re competent at best. _Also_ , it was Claude who landed that last hit on the Immaculate One.”

“Uh, _yeah_ , right after I ripped her a new one with a well-placed Apocalyptic Flame. Who do you think broke down the last of her barriers?” Hilda releases Edelgard once more, but not without a final squeeze to her shoulders. “I’m dubbing Freikugel _the godkiller_ from now on.”

“Wait, _the curse_?” Edelgard blurts out, her brain catching up to what Hilda had said. “The curse is broken?”

Claude nods so fast it’s a miracle his head doesn’t fall off, “I’m sure Hilda will fill you in on the details, but, in a nutshell? _Yes_. Fodlan is united, Faerghus fell and the Empire submitted. The Church is no more. Slayed the major gods, but kept around the ones that won’t cause any trouble. Peaceful gods got clemency, and they will _not_ be ruling over humanity anymore.

“Although… there’s _still_ some minor Seiros loyalists we should really hunt down… _and_ the Agarthans need to be dealt with as well. We know where they are, but… this rescue mission was next on the list, because _someone_ ,” he squints in Hilda’s direction, who in return smiles sheepishly, _“_ made an unbreakable vow to the river Styx, and I can’t have actual demons chasing after her, trying to collect.”

That… that was definitely too much for Edelgard to take. She’s equal parts overjoyed and devastated that it was someone else who got to accomplish her goals, someone else who got to witness Fodlan’s new dawn and shape it to their vision. It was bittersweet, in a sense, that her life’s work and her war were seen through by another. On some level, she had made her peace with it long ago, but actually _hearing_ it being said is still quite shocking.

If Rhea was dead, then that meant her stepbrother Dimitri had perished as well. There was no way the King of Ghosts would have allowed for the Church of Seiros to fall while his tormented heart still beat. A morbid half of her would like to ask how he died, while another part hopes she never finds out.

“But that’s not possible,” Edelgard feels heat rise to her ears as she looks between Hilda and her own fidgeting hands holding the mask, “I still feel… if the curse is broken, why am I _still_ …”

Hilda seems to catch on to her meaning, and she places a steadying hand at the angle of her elbow, gentle and reassuring, trying to open up her body language from being closed off. It works, and her arms fall at her sides. Edelgard watches as a pretty pink suddenly dusts the other girl’s cheeks, matching the color of her eyes.

“We can dissect later what’s real and what isn’t, yeah?” Hilda’s look is one of understanding, her voice soft, and very earnest. “I’m not going to pressure you. If you feel differently, I totally understand,” her eyes crinkle with another smile, “You own your heart again. Do with that what you will.”

“AW!” Claude snorts and nudges Hilda on the ribs, teasing the cheesy delivery, and she barks at him to _shut his trap_ , while Lysithea comments that she found it sweet. Watching them interact makes the missing pieces inside her ache, _specifically_ , the Black Eagle-shaped pieces.

A fourth party member then makes their presence known. 

“Hilda, you left me behind. That wyvern _hates me_.”

There had been a second person on the darker wyvern.

Byleth Eisner.

Their color palette is not godly green anymore, the sharp canines are no more. Their hair is a steely blue, matching their eyes. With a jolt, Edelgard realizes it must be their original colors, before they fused with the primordial goddess. Other than that, they look _just_ as they had when they first landed in Ogygia, and it’s almost unsettling.

They really had done it.

They…

Rhea really was _dead_.

“Sooorry, Professor. I just,” Hilda bounces up and down in place, her lips forming a pout, “I just wanted to see her so bad!”

Edelgard realizes something then. She does not feel anything stronger for the Professor than what she feels towards Claude, which was mostly neutral. Not even the remnants of an unrequited crush, there’s no stirring inside of her. There was no “getting over” people when her curse was in place, even with someone new, she still acutely felt their loss, and felt guilty over falling for someone else. She carried them with her, always.

What she feels towards _Hilda_ , however… remains unchanged.

Before Edelgard can have a mild crisis over this revelation, Byleth goes to stand right across from her, and to her relief, there seems to be no resentment in their gaze.

“Hello, Edelgard,” they say, a slight air of awkwardness to their posture, but still painfully polite. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Byleth, ah,” Edelgard says, “I-it’s lovely to see you, as well.”

Despite her not feeling anything remotely romantic anymore, things had ended up on a tense note. She’d confessed her love for the mercenary shortly before they left Ogygia, and upon being rejected, Edelgard had withheld the Heroes’ Relics locations out of spite, taunting the professor about their existence as the raft sailed away. Not her finest moment, to be sure.

“So! You are the Flame Emperor,” Claude says, those sharp eyes of his probably picking up on the tension. She’s thankful he’s swift to break it, “I gotta say, I’m a big fan. It’s thanks to the strong foundation you set that all of this was possible. You’ve also got quite the following. Everyone is eager to see you!”

“We’re like your cult,” Lysithea gushes, and upon realizing how deeply weird that is, she quickly backpedals, “Was that weird?”

Claude nods solemnly, “Yep! It most certainly was. Please don’t ever say that again.”

“Ferdinand and Constance look forward to reuniting with you,” Byleth says, an actual smile on their face. “They were wounded in the final battle at Fhirdiad, and it took some convincing to get them to stay put while we journeyed here to get you. Some of your former classmates from years ago defected to our side as well, and they would like to talk. Something about you being right all along.”

Edelgard stands in stunned silence. She knew some of these things, from that vision the gods sent her before Hilda’s departure, but she’d shelved it to the back of her mind. Hearing them come out of Byleth’s mouth, though, was entirely different. For the first time in a while, her heart aches, and it’s not from heartbreak.

“Speaking of,” Hilda shields her eyes from the sun and strains her neck as if looking for something, “where’s Hu-bird? And Lin? I brought birdseed!”

The only Adrestian present closes her eyes, braces herself to deliver the news. Although not fond of each other at first, Hilda had developed a begrudging cordiality with Hubert, a snarky relationship of sorts. Linhardt, too, had seemed to like Hilda’s fondness for napping and lazing about. Byleth got along with them as well, during their stay on the island, so at least two people here would be stricken by their passing just as she was.

“Uh, Edelgard?” Claude’s voice punctures through her dark thoughts, “Who are your friends?”

She opens her eyes slowly, “My…?”

Edelgard looks over her shoulder, worried it might be a demonic beast. Two figures stagger towards them from the forest. The taller one seems to be caked in mud, and the other is dragging their feet like they are weighed down by something, it’s truly a glacial pace. She hears Byleth mutter behind her, telling the Golden Deer to be on their guard, because this was supposed to be a deserted island with only one human inhabitant after all. Claude’s fingers twitch toward the curve of Failnaught at his back.

Edelgard’s narrowed eyes fly open in alarm when she finally realizes… realizes who they _are_ , who is making their way towards their group. “No, what…” she murmurs, as she tries to make sense of the miracle before her.

It looks like Hubert aged, and he appears to be the same age as Ferdinand– really, the same age they all _should be_ , had things worked out. Somehow, he even sports the same pointy beard his father used to have, and it suits him better than it ever did the late Marquis Vestra. He preferred a close shave during their academy days, intent to avoid looking like his father, but the facial hair is flattering. The Nemean Lion’s pelt is wrapped around him, like a toga. He’s still all paleness and gangly limbs, with a mildly miffed look on his face, but it’s her Hubert alright.

In stark contrast, Linhardt did _not_ age. He looks exactly the same as the last time he had a body, down to the clothes he wore when they were convicted, preserved in time just like Edelgard. His hair is a little disheveled, as if he just woke up from a nap after an intense crest-research session. She wonders why this was so, why the curse worked that way.

Edelgard can’t help the choked gasp that leaves her throat, and her limbs feel like they’re frozen. If she’d been overwhelmed before, she did not know what to call what she was feeling _now_. Part of her was still waiting for Seiros’ venomous tone to laugh at her for being so gullible, to reveal it had been some sick illusion to crush any last hopes she still harbored in her heart. When they finally come to stand before her, blinking owlishly, it’s like the flow of time resumes and she can breathe again.

“El– _ah_ , I mean… _Your Majesty_ ,” Hubert looks at her with those blessedly human eyes, and his voice is but a croak. He coughs, and a small, dark feather floats right out of his throat and he looks _positively revolted_. Edelgard beams, and launches herself firmly against his chest, not caring about the mud. _Oh_ , gods _, she buried him alive_.

He stumbles a couple of steps, perhaps still weak from the transformation, but catches her all the same. His chin still fits perfectly over the crown of her head, and it’s extremely disconcerting that after all this time he smells like himself, like freshly grounded coffee and sandalwood. “I am ever in your service,” he says, softly, perfect in every way.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Lin’s voice drawls, “I understand a bird-to-weird-man conversion is _much more_ impressive than _thin air_ to handsome young guy–”

“Linhardt, don’t be jealous,” Edelgard peels herself away from her retainer and actually lifts the skinny Hevring off his feet, causing him to yelp in indignation. Her cheek presses against his sternum, and the steady thrum of his heart makes her grin as she adds, “You’ll be lucky if I leave you two alone for the foreseeable future. I’m sorry to inform you that if you thought I was overbearing back in the Academy, now I–”

“I take it back, I take it back!” Linhardt gasps, tapping desperately on her shoulder, kicking his legs. “You’re smothering me!”

The affection in his tone betrays what’s actually coming out of his mouth, and Edelgard gives him one last squeeze before placing him back down. It now dawns on her that their initial disappearance must have been due to Rhea’s passing, and their triumphant return was because the Leicester party shattered what remained of the barrier that separated them from the rest of the world when they breached Ogygia.

“Oh! What the _hell_ happened to _him_?” Hilda’s eyes are wide as she jerks a thumb towards Hubert’s less than ideal appearance, as he stands there coated in mud. “ _Hubert_? Wow, _wow_. Is this a _beauty mask gone-wrong_ situation?”

“Hilda,” a thin smile carves itself on her retainer’s face, “It seems your vow to break the curse was not as worthless as I originally thought. For that, you have my thanks.” That was _high praise_ , coming from Hubert.

“Gee, I’ll take it, bird man.” Hilda swipes a finger against the muck on Hubert’s arm and makes a face, “What’s with the mud, though?”

“He died… at least, I thought he did,” Edelgard’s cheeks flame with embarrassment, “I buried him,” she hesitates, unsure on how to properly change the subject, before turning to the newcomers, “Anyhow! I suppose introductions are in order. Claude, Lysithea, I’m pleased to introduce you to Hubert von Vestra and Linhardt von Hevring, my associates–”

“ _Oh_ , I know Lord Vestra, alright!” Claude’s eyes shine with excitement, and he takes a startled Hubert’s hand in his own and vigorously shakes it, mud and all. “Your old network of spies was all-too-happy to join our cause, providing us with crucial information, my good sir. They performed fine work. Really, it’s thanks to you that we pinpointed the location of the Shambhala stronghold!”

“I… am glad,” her retainer manages, but from the corner of his eye he seems to be pleading for Edelgard’s help, and she can’t help but chuckle at Riegan’s enthusiasm.

Lysithea’s smile is directed at Linhardt, “And I am familiar with who _you_ are. We found your crest research. I’ve been picking at it on occasion, and you may be interested to learn that your hypothesis was right!” A spark of magic dances around her clenched fist in her giddiness, “If implantation is possible, then so is removal,” Lysithea’s eyes shift over to Byleth, “the Professor had their Crest of Flames removed, and they’re thriving. I may manage live past twenty, with your help.”

Lin’s sleepy eyes widen, “I intended it for Edelgard, originally, and I’m pleased it will serve you, too,” even he can’t stop himself from looking like he doesn’t believe that this is happening to them, “but that… that is great news. Oh, wow. Maybe existing in this hell of an earth isn’t _so_ terrible, after all.”

Before she allows the warm moment to wash over her too thoroughly, Edelgard feels a pang of dread tug at her heartstrings. Wasn’t it dangerous for Claude to just bring her back to civilization? She was a Hresvelg, after all, and his war was still too fresh, his victory too new, the balance too delicate. Bringing her into the picture could destabilize the control he had seized.

Then again… this looked like a _very_ smart, cunning man, from everything she had heard over the years. One did not earn _the Master Tactician_ nickname lightly. This was a calculated decision, and he ultimately had not deemed her a risk, a threat.

She suddenly understands why.

If Hilda, a well-educated noble, had not immediately recognized Edelgard’s name upon their first meeting, then the rewriting of history was done, her roots to any sort of claim in Fodlan had been severed for good. There was no birthright to reclaim, no populace clamoring for their emperor. Really, that wasn’t awful by any means. There were no more battles she wished to fight, no more injustice to set right. Nowadays, Edelgard longed for a quiet life, for peaceful days. Let another shoulder the burden of ruling.

“Your Majesty?” Hubert asks, noticing that her head lay elsewhere. Everyone’s eyes are on her, suddenly, and it makes her self-conscious.

“It’s not _your majesty_ ,” Edelgard tells him, as she quirks an eyebrow in the direction of the leaders of the rebellion, “I take it Fodlan is now under your care?”

Claude bows almost comically, “Though I dreamed of being the supreme ruler of this land, I have bigger fish to fry, heh. Beyond the border, so. I’m afraid I have delegated the task to more capable hands.” He lands a gloved hand on a stiff shoulder, “Teach is the boss now.”

Edelgard can’t help but feel her eyes go wide at the Duke’s choice, “Is that so?”

“United Kingdom of Fodlan,” Byleth confirms, still seemingly unused to the mouthful as well as their position. “It is… a lot of work. _Hard_ work.” Strangely enough, they get something akin to a sheepish expression on their face, “Edelgard, I was wondering… you were raised to do this from birth. Your advice and guidance would be invaluable. I would ask you that–”

Before they can continue or Edelgard can prematurely respond, Hilda shoulders her way in and says, “She’s going to have to pass on that for now, Professor.”

“Oh?” Edelgard would have been annoyed by the assumption if her body were capable of anything other than pure unaltered joy at the moment. Hilda looks nervous, but excited, and the energy is contagious.

“You’re gonna be busy with something else,” Hilda says, as she produces a scroll of parchment that she jabs one perfectly manicured nail against, “A quest! Or, well, a few of them…”

“Hm?” Edelgard tilts her head, and as Hilda unrolls the paper, it dawns on her. It’s a map, a map of Fodlan, of several seemingly random locations circled in red. But Edelgard knows those spots. Seiros had given her a personal tour of each and every one of them, years ago, when she’d time and time again rubbed her nose against her failure. Something in her chest caves as her eyes snap towards Hilda’s.

“That’s right!” the other girl chirps, catching the recognition on Edelgard’s face. Hilda’s eyes twinkle as she elaborates, “Caspar von Bergliez, Dorothea Arnault, Jeritza von Bartels… well, the whole gang! I think it’s long overdue that their punishments come to an end. It’s time to free them!”

Gratitude claims Edelgard’s senses, and the impulse to kiss Hilda becomes almost irresistible. This time, there’s no phantom hand urging her to oblige, no godly interference forcing her to _feel_. She simply feels inclined to do so, of her own free will. The mighty weight of _that_ powerful realization is the only thing that stops Edelgard from showering the youngest Goneril with the overflowing affection she finds herself with.

She doesn’t realize she’s smiling until Hilda returns the gesture, and while they’re still holding the map, she allows their fingers to brush in a tentative caress that seeps warmth into her bones.

“I understand Dorothea in particular was turned into a siren,” Lysithea pipes up, and it snatches back Edelgard’s attention. “I’ve given Hilda some Pure Water. It should restore things as they once were,” her nose wrinkles as she adds, “the tricky part will be getting her out of the sea and stop her from trying to drown you, but I’m sure Marianne would be happy to lend a hand with a Silence spell.”

Hubert nods in acknowledgment, perhaps already making mental notes of everything they would have to do, everything they were yet to set right. There is a stressed twitch in his eye. She wonders how he feels, if that nervous tic is due to the prospect of reuniting with Ferdinand once again. Edelgard silently checks up on Linhardt, too, and there _is_ some level anguish clouding his pale face, probably due to a certain blue-haired War Master.

Oh. Right.

“But Caspar is holding up the literal sky,” Edelgard blurts out, “As I understand it, if he were to release it, will it not come crashing down on us all–”

Claude cuts her off, his grin wolfish, “You’re correct. Someone must relieve him of the burden. Luckily, Thales looks like a good enough candidate to shoulder it for humanity’s sake. Before these rescue missions, we would ask that you join us in our campaign against their kind,” he gets a dark look in his eyes when he adds, “I… know there’s some history there, history you share with Lys.”

He meant her uncle– or rather, the _thing_ that had become her uncle. A member of those who slither in the dark, their top general. One of Edelgard’s foremost enemies and the one behind her painful blood reconstruction surgery, the creature behind the extermination of her siblings as well as a great number of other wicked deeds.

Forcing him to take on the burden of holding up the entire sky while rescuing one of her dearest friends in return sounded like a lovely idea, and she lets Claude know with a firm nod.

Who she now knows to be the Almyran King clears his throat, “Well, um. This looks like a lovely vacation spot and all, but I’m guessing the view gets old after a hundred years of relieving it,” his green eyes catch the sunlight, making the flecks of yellow in them stand out, “Do you fine folks have any final goodbyes, or–”

“No, no, no, _no_!” Linhardt answers for all of them, then pauses, tries to articulate his feelings for a couple of seconds, before he finally settles on: “Can I just say, _fuck_ this place, and _good riddance_?”

“A fine sentiment. I must admit I share it as well,” Hubert says, and Edelgard nods vigorously. There were _zero_ reminders she wished to bring with herself for the next chapter of her life, and although she would always carry some part of Ogygia in her mind, as well as several scars in her heart, she did not intend to bring any substantial reminders. The only exception being the Black Eagle’s pendant Hilda made for her, which she still carried around her neck.

Claude claps his hands together, “Well, that answers _that_. Linhardt, you’re riding with me and Lysithea on the white one. Hubert and Edelgard, since Hilda brought a chunky, labor-oriented wyvern, that one will have no problem carrying four people. Sound good?”

Everyone cheers their agreement, although Hubert looks a little sick at the prospect of flying. As they head towards their draconian rides, Edelgard hurries to match Hilda’s pace to walk beside her. Trying not to draw any attention to herself, she discretely reaches for Hilda’s hand, and threads their fingers together. Hilda gives their clasped hands a squeeze, and she takes it to be a promise that they will talk later, put a name on this new thing they had, sort out through the real and the fake.

Though Edelgard had an inkling of sorts of what the outcome of that conversation would be.

She joins Hilda on the rider’s seat by the front, while Byleth and Hubert try to make things work in the back. It’s not spacious, or fancy, but it’s the best gods damn ride in the world to her. With a tug of the reins, the wyvern takes flight, and the force of its wingspan kicks up sand and dried seaweed. Edelgard tilts her head to rest it against Hilda’s shoulder, allows for her tired shoulders to finally sag, for her soul to hope.

Edelgard closes her eyes, feels the last remnants of the unnatural breeze that refreshed her for decades ruffle her hair one last time. A child’s laugh she’d heard once before is carried by the wind as they soar away.

 _You are now free to leave Ogygia_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... look if i'd wanted to fill my need for a depressing ending that left me dissatisfied, then i would've just replayed Azure moon jsjjsjs
> 
> aaaahh anyways! idk if things working out was cliche or whatever, but i do like happy (or at least hopeful) endings, so. here. i made my own serotonin. from me to the hildagard stans. i'll be sure to keep doing my part so this little rarepair tag reaches 100 fics someday hahha i do have a couple of ideas in the oven...
> 
> but for now. THANK YOU FOR READING!!!


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